


Fading Silhouettes

by indysaur



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indysaur/pseuds/indysaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More AU to the max. Zombie fic, ballers. Written for J2 Remix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading Silhouettes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lower the Curtain Down All Right](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/7877) by cathybites. 



The problem is, Jared is days, miles, light years away.

  
****  
  
So. This is how it goes.  
  
There's a pickup truck in the middle of a cornfield, key in the ignition. Half a tank of gas and a dead body hanging out the driver's side door.  
  
"You think he was alone?" Jared asks.  
  
"Probably," Katie says. "In my experience, guys like that usually kill everyone they're with before they--" She mimes putting a gun to her forehead, the self-inflicted death.  
  
"Big damned heroes," Jared says.  
  
Jensen keeps his mouth shut. He scans the countryside. Fields wild and weeded. The sky heavy and unbroken over them. He can feel the pressure of it, the heat and weight bowing his shoulders. There isn't a sound. He is his eyes and skin, reduced to nothing but.  
  
Jared touches his arm. "We can set up here. In that barn." Jared points, maybe a mile away. "For a little while. Truck'll get us far enough, fast enough if it comes to that."  
  
Katie tugs the drawstring of her hoodie all the way out, leaves it hanging. Makes a show of looking away from Jensen. "No sign of people. Alive, anyway."  
  
"And you know the corpses go where the people are," Jared says.  
  
Katie shrugs. "It's an issue of hipness. They know where it's at."  
  
Jared snorts. "Rotting flesh is in?"  
  
"Hello? Why do you think I insist on smelling like this?" Katie tosses her hair.  
  
"Alright," Jensen says. He squints at the barn. It looks sound enough, from this distance. He'll have to see. "In the truck." He grips the short end of the drawstring at Katie's neck, pulls it down until it hangs perfectly even. Ignores her smirk.  
  
The visibility is good. They have enough ammunition to keep from worrying. Jared looks tired. And they all could use some time: to sit, to wash. To breathe. He prays, sincerely, that the barn still has a door. It's the height of his hopes.  
  
****  
  
Katie's sitting deep inside one of the horse stalls in the barn. You can only see her shoes: ratty white sneakers she keeps freakishly clean, covered in little markered dashes that count off bundles of five. Jared drew the stars that sit over her toes. They scream Jared. The way a kindergartener learns to draw stars, starting with an upside down 4, uneven points, a total lack of symmetry. Just big and bold.  
  
Jensen's leaned up against the open barn door, his shotgun up against his shoulder. Moon's high, and Jared looks like a ghost there, only thirty feet away. He's at the water pump, faint light a strip of bone across his broad and moving shoulders. Jensen's gaze sweeps out into the night: nine o'clock, ten, eleven, hits Jared at high noon, then ticks away. Moving with his feet stock still.  
  
The pump sighs, water a rushing beat. Katie's shoes kick in time at four.  
  
Jared stoops lower, then rises, a pail in each hand. The pump hisses to a stop.  
  
Everything drains out to quiet.  
  
Jensen squints. He tries to hear past his own breathing. Jared's walking towards him, skinny but wide. _Don't get stuck looking at his face_ , Jensen thinks. _The features forming out of the_ _dark_ , _out of the distance_.  
  
For a second, there's the barest scent of something fetid in the air. He could have imagined it.  
  
 _Wait for it_. He breathes deep, dragging breaths.  
  
 _There_. There's a rustle, there, and there. Jensen aims careful, past Jared still walking, pumps two rounds out into the corpse on the left, then swings around to the right flank, holds his breath. Little muscles in his eyes flexing, working to scrape away the dark.  
  
"Okay?" Jared asks.  
  
"Sh." Jensen licks his lips. "I lost him. Pick it up, Jay."  
  
Jared trots. He's being too careful about spilling water. It's so fucking stupid.  
  
"Faster, please," comes Katie's voice from behind him. "Pamplona."  
  
Jared jogs. The fucker.  
  
Jensen doesn't get the time to curse out loud before there's a burst of noise, a roar and pounding. A corpse erupts from the overgrown fields of corn, sheaves furious in its wake. It's sprinting, and Jared goes stiff then small. He doesn't even look behind himself, just draws in his shoulders, ducks some. He doesn't run.  
  
Jensen shoots and pumps, shoots and pumps. He counts: one, two, three, four. The corpse staggers, but doesn't slow. Over his shoulder a rat-a-tat-tat from Katie's rifle, and the thing's close enough that Jensen can see the bullets slam into its chest, sinking into the putrid flesh.  
  
Jensen sprints out, braces the shotgun, leans into it and fires, blows a hole in the corpse's waist. Races past Jared, screaming, "Drop the fucking water, you bitch!" then watches the corpse fall back, and he's on it before it can sit up, stomping the thing's head into the fertile, loamy dirt.  
  
He grinds his heel. Like he's making a paste to spread on crusty bread.  
  
He pants. Looks out into the fields, reloading his shotgun with shaking hands. There were two, he knows. But that other one. That other one went down, but who knows whether it got done. He counts to sixty Mississippi.  
  
He backs up slow. Holds his breath, so there's no rise and fall to interfere with his aim. He's got true aim, he knows. Steady when other things aren't.  
  
As soon as he steps back into the barn, he draws the door closed, flips three locks, top to bottom.  
  
Katie's putting away her firearm. She grimaces. "You're spattered." She holds one hand over her nose, places the other firmly on Jensen's shoulder, to wipe off some goop. To help him lower his gun. "And yes, for all you folks at home, zombie matter still reeks." She looks over at Jared who's got one pail over the fire and is watching the water steam. "It's too close to food. There's a reason I gave up hamburger way before this."  
  
"Mm. You talk so pretty." Jared stretches. He rubs his hands over his face. He fixes his eyes on Jensen.  
  
He's being studied. Jensen can feel every bit and piece of body that stains his clothes and skin. He drags a hand through his hair, lets himself close his eyes. Leaves his hair thick and sticky. The adrenaline's fading. He's fucking exhausted. Frayed, ground down between molars.  
  
Jared sighs. "You're fucking lucky I have enough water to clean up your goddamn mess," he says.  
  
"Corra, amigo," Katie says.  
  
****  
  
How did you first hear?  
  
Usually Jensen says it like this: "A prophet; the quivering, spitting messenger of America's doom."  
  
Jared says it like this, always half-directed at Jensen: "You were in the living room, wearing my boxers. He had the TV on. Yup, I was with my--what do I call you now? You just another ex, Jen-Bob?"  
  
Katie doesn't remember. "I was probably eating," she says. "Peanut butter on Wheat Thins. God. Do you even know how good?" She shakes her head.  
  
****  
  
They can have a backpack because there are three of them, and they're armed. Lucky enough to be armed. Jared carries it mostly. "Because I'm the man," he says, and this is the cue for Jensen to work the pump on his shotgun, and then for Katie to laugh.  
  
Still. They've already lost eight backpacks, somewhere, ditched in favor of life-saving speed. Jared's held on to this one for almost a month now. Complete with two blankets. Jensen stands at the window they pried the boards off of, watches Jared and Katie make a bed near the fire. Jared sweeps Katie into a hug, squeezes her until she yelps and swats at him. Jensen rolls his eyes, and, on cue, Jared looks at him, smirks. Comes to Jensen, wearing this grin. When he's close enough, he leans in and kisses Jensen's temple, then stands there with him for a little while in silence.  
  
Jared hums before he speaks. "Your hair smells clean-ish."  
  
"It has shine." Jensen turns to fully face Jared, chest to chest. He steps onto Jared's feet, finds a little more height. He stares Jared in the eye, noses brushing. "Thank my new conditioner."  
  
"I would like to shave your head."  
  
"Dead man walking," Jensen says.  
  
Jared kisses him. His lips are chapped. He pulls away, hums in the back of his throat. "Go to bed, okay? I'll watch."  
  
"You don't even have a gun." Jensen wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He spits. Scowls at Jared before leaning in for another kiss.  
  
Jared pulls his handgun from his waist, waves it in the air. Like it's a toy. "Says you."  
  
Jensen smirks. Looks so lightweight. "I'll be," he says gravely.  
  
"Go to bed, baby. Daddy'll take good care of you."  
  
Jensen yawns. He raises his middle finger, heads toward the fire.  
  
"You are cordially invited to suck it." Jared grabs his crotch.  
  
Jensen lies down onto the blankets next to Katie. Her eyes are closed, so Jensen lets out a long, slow breath, feels his eyelids droop. Shifts to find some comfort, blanket drawn over one leg, earth at his back, heat seeping across one plane of his face.  
  
Katie curls up beside him. "I wish I had a boyfriend," she says. "You fucking suck."  
  
Jensen holds her hand. "He's not my boyfriend," he says.  
  
"And whose fault is that?" Katie asks. Her knees are touching his, and her hand feels small, every bone like a bird's, strong and hollow.  
  
****  
  
They leave in the morning, as soon as there's sun. It's the longest Jensen can let them wait. Katie's swimming in this Columbia Sportswear jacket Jared gave her, breath curling around her face. Jensen remembers, vividly, what she used to look like made-up. All colored in.  
  
She's tying her shoe, now, an apple clenched between her teeth, foot braced on the dashboard. He reaches over and pulls a piece of straw from her hair. She winks at him, then twists to face the back, slides open the window to shout at Jared. "Having fun out there?"  
  
Jared whoops. Jensen can picture him. Long legs stretched out. Back to the cab, handgun between his legs, held snug against his crotch. Shirt open one button past appropriate. _Slut_.  
  
"Should he be yelling like that?" Jensen asks.  
  
"Jared," Katie yells, "Jensen would like to know if you're interested in fighting."  
  
"What kind of fighting? Fist?"  
  
"No," Katie says. "In the manner of two people with a long and twisting history."  
  
"Oh," Jared says. "Tell him 'No, thank you', sweetheart."  
  
Katie turns to Jensen, raises an eyebrow.  
  
Jensen clicks his teeth together. Raises his voice over the noise. "I shouldn't still be pissed off about this morning. Alright? But you know I fucking hate that game. Always have."  
  
"Jensen," Katie shakes her head, smiling a little. "He pulled the car away three times. It was like the shortest game of keep away ever. Everybody does that. My dad did it to my mom all the time. It's a joke."  
  
Jensen grits his teeth. He wishes he could let it go. "You're right. You're right, it's stupid. We have bigger shit to worry about." Jensen feels a hand on his shoulder. Glances back to see Jared, chin on his bicep, hair a fucking disaster in the wind. Arm threaded through the window.  
  
"It's not stupid," Jared says. "I do know you hate that." He squeezes Jensen's shoulder hard, then cups the side of Jensen's neck. Palm of his hand running hot, cold fingertips stroking Jensen's Adam's apple. "I'm sorry. Should've said sorry first. Right off."  
  
Jensen nods. They drive, the fuzz of the radio almost waist-deep.  
  
Jared moves his hand, a few minutes later, but Jensen clears his throat, and it comes back. Rests there, over the right side of his chest.  
  
****  
  
Back when he was a kid, Jensen would wake up at five on Sunday mornings. It was best in the spring. Light so cold and faint you could scare it away if you moved too fast. He'd pull on thick socks, all the way up to his knees, then pad out to the kitchen, out the sliding glass doors, into the backyard where his dad was sitting on a fold-out lawn chair.  
  
There was always a chair for Jensen. He'd sit and fight a yawn. Taste his mouth.  
  
His dad would have the Bible spread open on his lap. He would pray with his eyes open, and Jensen would look with him: at the rising sun, the penumbra of night. Purple to gray to gold. The lawn Jensen had mown yesterday, shorn, and wet with dew, with trembling light. His ears would twitch at every noise: breath and wind, leaves. An owl he never actually saw. Things alive and stirring.  
  
"God is great," his dad would say.  
  
And Jensen would open his mouth, dry and sticky, and say, "All the time."  
  
"All the time--"  
  
"God is great."  
  
Every Sunday morning. To greet a world brand new.  
  
****  
  
The needle on the fuel gauge hovers over empty. Jensen tries not to look at it so damn much. He snaps off the radio. He can't listen to it anymore. There's nothing there. There won't be anything there. He bites the inside of his cheek, then nudges Katie who's dozing. She groans, rolls onto her side, face pressed flat against the glass of her window.  
  
"Katie," he says. "Are you asleep?"  
  
She whimpers, then straightens in her seat, blinking heavily. "I want juicy dish."  
  
"What?"  
  
"If you're waking me up right now, I want it to be for something awesome. Okay? I know the next words out of your mouth were going to be, 'How're you holding up', or 'Talk to me', but you know for a fact that I'm holding up grade-A awesome, and, also, that you are putting me out. You are waking me up and asking me for the favor of my consciousness, knowing full well that I'm grumpy when woken. So _you_ talk to _me_."  
  
Jensen stares hard out the windshield. The road's empty. He drives in the middle of it, straddling that double yellow line. He's veered around a few wrecks already. He keeps noticing his heartbeat. "I'm just--" He blows out a breath, smiles over at Katie. "Don't know why but I just got the creeps."  
  
She looks at him. She scoots over, close, stick shift pressing into the soft flesh at her side. "Put your arm around me," she says. She rests her head against him.  
  
He holds her close. It makes it easier to be brave, pretending she needs protection.  
  
"You should tell Jared," Katie says. "That you're--" She twirls a hand in the air.  
  
Jensen glances in the rearview mirror. "He's sleeping."  
  
"When he's awake then."  
  
"Okay," Jensen says. "When he's awake."  
  
"You can talk to me about it. Whenever you need." Gently prodding.  
  
Jensen wags his head. "I know. Same goes."  
  
They stay like that for a few minutes, her cheek pressed into the cushion of his shoulder. Both of them staring out windows. Then two things happen. An orange light blips on on the dashboard. And Jared raps at the back window. "Get out the china," he says.  
  
Jensen lowers his head, looks into the side view mirror. A wave of corpses closer than they first appear. He can see their mouths, even from this distance. You always see their mouths.  
  
****  
  
The day after his nineteenth birthday was a Sunday. Jensen's dad called, early. Jensen was hungover. Probably still drunk.  
  
"Hey, Pop."  
  
"Mmhmm. Have a good birthday?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
There was silence, long enough that Jensen almost fell back asleep. "I was just thinking about you today," his dad finally said. "How small you used to be."  
  
"Mm." Jensen sighed heavily. His head throbbed. His dick was half hard. He really didn't want to be on the phone with his dad.  
  
"Anyway."  
  
Jensen buried his face in his pillow. Got out: "Okay, Dad. Thanks for calling."  
  
"Son." A pause. Like it was going to be something really important. "You're grown now."  
  
Something jumped in the pit of Jensen's stomach. He was going to throw up if he opened his mouth. He'd fucking throw up, guaranteed. He should've been able to hold his tequila better. It was a fucking disgrace.  
  
"Just. God is great."  
  
Jensen heaved. "Damn it. Dad, I'm sorry, I have to go. I do. Bye. Love you." And he hung up, made a run for the toilet.  
  
He thought about it later, when he'd sobered up. Right in the middle of dinner, on a date in Beverly Hills, in a restaurant he couldn't really afford. _We're different_ , he thought. _He's from a different time_.  
  
 _He sounded old_ , Jensen thought.  
  
****  
  
Jensen gets pretty close to a gas station before the truck gives out. They sprint the remaining quarter mile, down shimmering asphalt, then over the railing and into the untended brush. Jensen's sweating. His shirt sticks to his skin, bunches up under his arms. Grass knee high and dry as dust.  
  
The station's alone and waiting. Jared shoves his way into the convenience store, does a quick 360, takes everything in at once. "Fuck it," he says. "It's all fucking glass."  
  
"Two doors," Katie says. She's pulling her hair back into a quick bun. "I swear to fucking God," she says. "Someone's going to fucking cut my hair the second we're done with the new wave."  
  
"The pretty princess will do it," Jared says, nodding at Jensen absentmindedly. "Did you see how many?"  
  
"Eighteen, maybe," Jensen says. "Right?"  
  
Katie nods. "I counted that. Six for each of us."  
  
"Not if I snake one of yours," Jared says.  
  
"Please." Katie lifts a shoe, points at the dashes there in blue and orange marker. "Uh oh, look at that. I'm up on you by at least nine."  
  
Jared winks, slips a new cartridge into his piece. They take position in silence: Katie behind the counter at the register, Jared in the doorway leading into the bathroom, Jensen pressed into the corner along the door's wall, looking straight down towards the entrance. They wait. Jensen runs through a checklist: reminds himself of how much ammo they have left, pats his belt where his knife hangs, then his left pocket where his lighter waits. He steadies his breathing.  
  
It's still light outside. The sun's simmering high up in the sky.  
  
"I wish they'd get bored, you know?" Katie peers out the window. Looks for first signs. "Distracted, or tired, or anything. I hate this." Her voice is too loud. "I hate knowing they're coming. They're always going to be coming."  
  
Jensen licks his upper lip.  
  
"Shit," Jared says. The word drops and clatters. That epic brow of his is furrowed. _Icicles could hang there_. It's a familiar thought. _If it was winter_. Jensen wants to run the heel of his palm against it.  
  
He's really tired. His gun is ten and a half pounds at the ends of his arms, a dragging-down weight.  
  
****  
  
Jared said this thing sometimes. When they were on set at two a.m. and Jensen was swaying on his feet, staring at the set dresser's hands. Or when Jensen was loaded, one too many tokes from Danny's bong, laughing quietly on the long end of her sectional sofa. Or early mornings, surrounded by the smell of his long-owned feather pillows, light divided up by the blinds into easy-to-swallow strips: "Hey," Jared would say. "Come back to me."  
  
And Jensen would look up, and blink away whatever daze he'd fallen into and Jared would be there. Right there in front of him, smiling. Bright and solid.  
  
"Sorry," Jensen would say.  
  
Jared would shake his head fondly, or laugh, or punch him, but the best reaction, the one Jensen waited for, was a kiss. This quick, dry brush of lips.  
  
It's sentimental, Jensen knows. But Jared used to say it all the time.  
  
They're still waiting in the convenience store here, now. Jared's slid down to the floor, knees up, gun hanging limply in his hand. His feet are dirty, black except for patches where his skin shows through, burnished brown by the sun. He needs real shoes. The flip flops are worn down to nothing. He's rubbing at his beard, staring down at the floor between his legs. Jensen can hear Jared's fingers scraping through the bristly hair.  
  
He wants Jared to look at him. Right now. _Just look up and see me watching you_.  
  
"Heads up," Katie says. "Shadows on the move."  
  
****  
  
Jensen doesn't know how long it's been. The windows have shattered all around him, their remains glittering under the late afternoon sun. Everything's bathed in the glow. He's killed four, and Jared is alive, and Katie is alive. He can see them holding their breath. He can feel every bead of sweat, dripping down his scalp, over his eyebrows, one clinging there to the lashes over his right eye. He can feel the dirt caked under his fingernails, the blood seeping from his knee, bent against the sharp edge of glass.  
  
His hands are soft and pliant around the bucking gun in his hand, the smoke and fire. _This is how I scream_ ; mouth open, the crack of his weapon a noise that comes from the depths of his throat.  
  
He gets off two more shots. Quick and organic, like he's reaching out and touching each corpse: there, at its temple, and there, at its nose. Gaping spaces blossoming where rot used to be.  
  
The quiet drifts in. It comes in ringing.  
  
He's crouched down low. His blood feels thick and hot, burning through his body; sweat and dirt patching him together where the blood breaks past his skin. He remembers being ten, and staying up on New Year's Eve for the very first time. At church for the countdown to midnight, Jensen had crouched just like this under the pews, when his dad took the stage. Pop's amplified voice rolling through him, quickening his tired breath.  
  
 _We were created from dust in the image of God. Granted dominion over the fish in the seas, over the birds in the air, over every living thing that walks along the earth. The breath in our lungs holy, this body dirt and water._  
  
Jensen can't clear his head. Adrenaline still ringing in his ears. _It's over_ , he tells himself. _We're done. For now_.  
  
He can't find relief.  
  
"Oh fuck," Jared shouts. So damn loud, it's all anyone can hear. Jensen looks up. Jared's hefting a bottle of green liquid, beaming. "You don't even fucking know how obsessed I am with mouthwash."  
  
Katie stands, stretching. "Please, Jesus, let there be tampons. I will kiss you on the mouth if there are tampons."  
  
"I'll be minty fresh, friend."  
  
Jensen gives himself a shake, hard. He rocks back onto his heels, cocks his head at Jared. "You know that's not a substitute for a toothbrush, right?"  
  
Jared breaks open the bottle, takes a chug. He swishes it in his mouth, pointing at Jensen with both middle fingers. He spits, drags the back of his hand against his mouth, leaving a streak of black in its wake. He's bleeding from a scrape under his eye, red-black a crust on his cheek. His feet are practically bare, skin burnt red on his lean forearms. His hair is snarled beyond salvation, his beard thick and unruly.  
  
 _Dirt, and sweat, and blood_ , Jensen thinks.  
  
Jared flashes a smile, a cut of pearly white.  
  
****  
  
They sleep in shifts. He doesn't know what time it is when Katie gets up from beside him and Jared takes her place. Jensen just sprawls across Jared's chest, half awake, face buried in Jared's neck. "You reek," he says.  
  
"Step number one would be to stop breathing me in, then," Jared says. He shoves at Jensen halfheartedly. "Kinky motherfucker. You like my stench."  
  
"Mm. Fucking hot," Jensen says. He humps at Jared's thigh.  
  
Jared laughs.  
  
Jensen opens his eyes, looks at the profile of Jared's smile. White lines where he creases, pale against the darkness of his stained skin. "Kiss me, dude," he says.  
  
Jared turns his head, studies him. The moon's brighter than anything. "Nah," he says.  
  
"Yeah." Jensen grins. "I don't find you sexy anymore, either."  
  
Jared's smile widens. "Well, your lips are all chapped."  
  
"And?"  
  
"They're the source of all your powers!" Jared's voice is quiet, full of glee. "The source of all your powers is chapped."  
  
Jensen's too exhausted to laugh. He kisses Jared firmly.  
  
When Jared pulls away, he says, "Under duress," and cups Jensen's cock.  
  
"Noted."  
  
The hour shutters by, in fast, moving pictures. Jensen feels rooted in every one, present under Jared's hands and mouth, under the moon he sees three seconds in the past, under stars whose light is older than anything moving across the face of a stilled and darkened earth.  
  
****  
  
He asked Jared about it, once. "Why do you say that?" It was late. They were trudging across the lot, faces freshly scrubbed free of makeup. Jensen's cheeks were burning in the cold.  
  
Jared shrugged. He cleared his throat, looked up at the sky. "Did you know that it takes light 2.56 seconds to travel from the moon to the earth?"  
  
Jensen yawned.  
  
"Every time we see the moon, we're seeing a snapshot of what it looked like three seconds ago. We never see it as it is. You know? Now, at this instant."  
  
Jensen ground at his eyes. "I'm fucking beat. No one has ever been more tired than I am."  
  
Jared laughed, pulled open the door to the van home.  
  
The engine started, and Jensen felt himself fading. He could identify this van based off the sound of its engine alone. The chug and hum. It rumbled around him, the sound of the tires on asphalt like a high tide, rushing forward, rushing up. The heat was turned up; the hot air smelled like mildewed leaves and Jared's deodorant. Jensen was dozing when Jared spoke again.  
  
"I'm just saying--" Jared paused. "I always wonder what you’re thinking. You know? I want to know who you are, right now. I don’t--I don’t want to be that guy, who used to work with you on that show, a long time ago.” He drew in a slow, steady breath. "You're important to me." He laughed, embarrassed. "Fuck. I'm not saying it right."  
  
Jensen kept his eyes shut. His body rocked to the rhythm of the van. He patted Jared's armrest, his thigh and knee, before finding his hand. He squeezed it so hard he could hear Jared's knuckles crack.  
  
"Ow, motherfucker, that hurts."  
  
Jensen snickered, then released Jared's hand. He let his fingertips rest, there, in Jared's big palm. He still ached. "I don't really change," he said.  
  
"Hmm." Jared shifted in his seat. He was falling asleep, his breaths lengthening.  
  
Jensen opened his eyes, then. He hoped, hard, that the van wouldn't stop. That it wouldn't stop for a long time. He fingered the lines in Jared's palm.  
  
****  
  
Jensen has his hand splayed on Jared's stomach, right under Jared's belly button. Jared's soft there. His guts protected by tissue that gives. Jensen could slit him open, right here. It'd be so easy. He draws his thumbnail across the yielding flesh.  
  
"Stop," Jared says. He grabs Jensen's wrist. "That tickles."  
  
Jensen flexes his forearm in Jared's grasp. Tests his strength.  
  
Jared releases, stretches, forcing Jensen to move off of him. He nods toward Katie. "Think it's your turn, buddy."  
  
"I've got a little more time."  
  
Jared yawns. "You heard her earlier. I think she's got the creeps. Don't make her wait."  
  
Jensen sighs. "I'm covered in jizz," he says accusingly.  
  
Jared fights off a smile, puts a hand to his heart. "I'm not the one who started it."  
  
Jensen pushes up onto his knees, tucks himself away, zips up his pants. Jerks through each action, unwilling. "She's gonna be mad we fooled around on the blankets."  
  
"You think?" Jared puts a hand on Jensen's knee, waits until Jensen meets his eyes. "Hey. I'm just--I'm worried about her, a little bit."  
  
"Trying to get rid of me," Jensen says.  
  
Jared shrugs, grin satisfied. "Got mine. And now, to sleep." He closes his eyes, hands behind his head.  
  
Jensen watches him for a second. He leans over, hands braced on either side of Jared's head. Inside the space cordoned off by Jared's arms, the crook of his elbows. He puts his face close, tilts so their mouths could touch if he lowered just another bit.  
  
Jared doesn't stir. His lips are relaxed, turning up at the corners.  
  
They don't kiss. Jensen's not sure, all of a sudden, if he's allowed.  
  
He's probably out of time.  
  
****  
  
They head out early. Jensen watches the sun get up off the ground, then touches Jared low on his back, shakes Katie awake.  
  
They walk along the highway. They learned early on that there's no real need to seek cover. It's not about avoiding visibility; the corpses always find them. They argued about it once--what gave them away. Not sight, everyone agreed. Smell, maybe. Hearing; dead ears carefully attuned to the sound of breathing. Jensen thinks it's heat. Their decaying faces drawn to it, like flowers turning with the sun. It would explain a lot. He remembers how much soup he ate that first winter up in Vancouver. The warmth of it was as much of a reason to consume as the taste--the way it spread from his stomach in radiating circles.  
  
Jared's not bothering to shorten his strides up ahead. Jensen doesn't try to catch up; Jared's rapping. Jensen can hear the faint rhythms of it, see it in the set of Jared's shoulders. Jared knows exactly one Lil Wayne song, and Jensen's heard it enough he could match Jared, word for word.  
  
Katie's got her eye on the horizon at his side, licking the dust off her upper lip. Jared's voice floats back to them, and Katie absentmindedly whispers along: " _Call me what you want, bitch, call me on my sidekick. Never answer when it's private, damn, I hate a shy bitch. Don't you hate a shy bitch_ \--"  
  
Jensen groans.  
  
Katie looks at him, startled out of her reverie, then laughs. "It's catchy," she says.  
  
"It's the devil's music," Jensen says.   
  
Katie snorts. She eyes a collapsed freeway sign, far ahead in the distance. "Should we bother to check that?"  
  
Jensen shrugs. "We can if you want. We're headed in the right direction if that's what you're worried about."  
  
"How much longer, do you think?"  
  
"Another week and a half, if we're lucky."  
  
"And we're always lucky." She blows on her knuckles, shines them on her shirt.  
  
"Chock full." Jensen grins.  
  
Katie looks down at her feet. Her voice doesn't waver: "What do you think we'll find there?"  
  
Jensen squints into the sun. "Jared heard a lot of people got safe, at the Fort, and the Air Force bases. But--" Jensen follows Katie's gaze. Counts the dashes on her shoes, each one a kill. Their feet carrying them forward. "I don't know."  
  
"Look!" Jared's twisted around, arm pointing at a corner of the sign that still stands. "San Antone!" Grin a mile wide.  
  
****  
  
Everyone has a story of where they were when.  
  
Jensen's is this: He was cutting his toenails in Jared's living room, one foot up on Jared's coffee table, the other planted in Harley's side, keeping him at a safe distance. Sadie was curled up next to him on the couch.  
  
Glenn Beck was shouting on the plasma. " _This is just one more thing in a long list of travesties that this government is either unwilling to stop, or, more likely, actively encouraging. That this doctor--Dr., Dr. Joseph Vilner--would not only create this, this pathogen, this bacteria, but would then presume to inform us that it's for our benefit!  
  
That it's the first step to, what did he say, 'the mass production of human hormones, leading to a more affordable and precise application which could have many repercussions in our fight against cancer, against AIDS,' and this, this is my favorite part: 'against the degradation of the human body'. What the hell does that even mean_?"  
  
Jensen watched Glenn Beck's cheeks quiver in high definition from the corner of his eye. "This guy," he said to Sadie, "would be a good actor. Shakespearean. Look at that, girl. Look at his face go." He wedged the clipper in under his toenail. He'd let them grow too fucking long. "Travesty," he mimicked. He blustered, let his cheeks drop and go round.  
  
" _A travesty! But, and this is my real point, federal money is going into this guy's pocket. What are we doing funding research like this when we're still unprepared to deal with an outbreak like swine flu, this, this H1N1. I'm telling you, things are adding up, the czars in charge here are not messing around_."  
  
"Czars!" Jensen boomed.  
  
Sadie perked up beside him, ears twitching. She jumped off the couch and padded to the door just as it burst open. Jensen checked the clock. Long run today.  
  
"Hey, girl." Jared mopped up his usual flood of sweat, pressing his towel to his forehead, then under each arm before slinging it over his shoulder. "How are you, baby?"  
  
"Dude," Jensen said. "Harley keeps trying to eat my nail clippings. Feed the dog."  
  
"Dude," Jared said, walking into the kitchen, "Protein. Keratin, or whatever. It's good for him." He slammed open the cupboards, hefted the tub of protein powder onto the counter.  
  
Jensen turned down the volume on the TV, watched Jared meticulously spoon powder onto his food scale. "You're embarrassing," he said.  
  
Jared didn't look up from reading the measurement, flexed one arm and pressed a distracted kiss to his bicep.  
  
"I'm hungry," Jensen said, twirling the nail clipper between his fingers. He still had shit to do, grooming to finish, but--Jared was here.  
  
"I'll make you a shake." Jared turned, grabbed two glasses from the sink. Swept the 51 grams of protein powder into his cup, then doled out Jensen's portion onto the scale, squinting at the reading.  
  
"Don't make me a shake."  
  
"I'll make you a shake." Jared looked up, raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck are you watching?"  
  
"I don't know." It was Glenn Beck, and Jared hated him. Jensen turned up the volume, the shouting reverberating out of the speakers. You could almost feel the spit on your face. "It soothes me," Jensen said.  
  
" _And the gall!_ " the speakers bellowed. " _Listen to his closing statement--listen to this, you're not going to believe it: 'Ladies and gentlemen, in creating life, we have delivered the first stroke to death.' Who do you think you are, Dr. Vilner, to presume to play God? That's what really gets me. The sheer arrogance! And our government! Twiddling its thumbs._ "  
  
Jared shook his head. "Shit, son--"  
  
"--I'm not your son--"  
  
"Shit, son, that's bananas." He opened the freezer, swung a plastic bag full of frozen bananas out. "Is he flipping out over that synthesized bacteria thing?"  
  
Jensen nodded. "Four bananas in mine. And some of those blueberries. And honey."  
  
"This is why you're doughy." Jared leaned over the island, grabbed the honey from off the dining table. "I heard about that on NPR."  
  
"Misha," Jensen said automatically.  
  
Jared laughed, then shrugged. "Kind of weird, though, right?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Jensen scratched Harley's chest with his toes.  
  
"I don't know." Jared didn't look him in the eye. He used to get embarrassed, sometimes, to admit that he'd put thought into something.  
  
"You know, Jay."  
  
"You ever give real thought to that idea? Living forever? Scares the shit out of me."  
  
Jensen flopped back onto the couch, spread his arms wide. Sadie came trotting back, hopped up onto Jensen's lap. "Nobody likes a funeral."  
  
"Yeah, but--" Jared chewed on his bottom lip, broke the frozen bananas in thirds. Forearms flexing. He tossed everything into his Magic Bullet, sent the sound of whirring steamrolling through the room. "Everybody goes." He clicked it off after a few seconds. "It's the last even playing field. What do you do if you're not marching to a finish line?"  
  
On TV, Glenn Beck's mouth dropped open. His chin doubled. " _I just have to repeat that. I have to. Really soak in the conceit of this statement. We have delivered the first stroke to death. This is the country we live in. This is the United States of Amer_ \--"  
  
"Okay!" Jared clapped his hands together. "Shake's ready, Jenny pie."  
  
That's Jensen's story. The day the world was told. The eve.  
  
****  
  
It's getting dark. A blanket of cold thrown over them, in one, quick, snuff. "Katie," Jensen says. "Run up in front of Jared, yeah?" He draws his shoulders in, stoops. It makes him feel safe, to be a smaller target.

  
She nods, puts her hood on, pulls the drawstring tight. She jogs ahead.  
  
Jensen strides after her, but stops at Jared's side. Keeps an eye on Katie's back.  
  
Jared looks over at him. "We on tail duty?" he asks, a smile tugging at one side of his lips.  
  
Jensen grunts. "We should stop soon. Night's coming."  
  
Jared turns back to the road, jaw set. Tone deceptively light. "We can go a little farther."  
  
"Jared. Kind of risky, don't you think?" The corpses are more active at night. Jensen's not sure why. Probably so they can really make sure to scare the shit out of God-fearing folk.  
  
Jared scans the sky. Squints into the sun flaming out on the horizon. "We can go a little farther," he says.  
  
"Fuck, Jared. No." Jensen grabs Jared's arm, fingers wrapping around the scar there, a deep set of healing scratches. "Okay? No."  
  
"Look around, Jensen." Jared shakes off Jensen's hand, spreads his arms out wide. "Where are we going to make camp here? Huh? There's no shelter. You wanna make a fire out here in the open? There's nothing to put your back to!"  
  
Jensen feels his jaw clench. "It doesn't matter how fucking fast we go if we die doing it. We can stop right now, before nightfall. San Antonio'll still be there in the morning."  
  
Jared laughs, disbelieving. "How the fuck do you know that?"  
  
Jensen changes tacks. "Jared. I'm fucking exhausted." He feels it in his bones. The tissue clinging, weighing heavy. Wind humming, and Jensen can smell his own stench. He's dirty. There's not a place on him that's clean. "Please."  
  
Jared meets his eyes, brows furrowed. "Jensen," he says. It's mournful.  
  
Jensen shakes his head. "Please, Jay."  
  
Jared pulls his shoulders back. He hefts the pack high up, biceps going round. "I'm going a couple more miles." His brow smoothes, no sign of storm on his face as he starts away.  
  
It's not really a choice. "You're a fucking asshole," Jensen says. He can't hear anything but his brain working, the blood rushing into his head. He can't find the words under the burst of a sudden and hot anger. "We're stopping. Katie's tired as shit. Something you might have noticed if you were paying any kind of attention, you selfish fuck."  
  
"Come if you want," Jared says. He doesn't even turn around.  
  
Jensen's anger gets caught at the bottom of his throat, turns over in his belly. He forgets how to swallow. Vision wavers and it pisses him off even more. He plants his feet, watches Jared go. He opens his mouth:  
  
"Jensen," Katie screams.  
  
It's a shock to the system, and he snaps awake, eyes going wide. He can't see her. He wasn't paying attention to where she was. He steps forward, blinks down hard. "Katie!" He's not going to panic. "Jared, _Katie_." So worried he doesn't hear the footsteps behind him until they're too close, a hand slamming into the back of his head, hard enough that bits of flesh rain down around him. He grunts, slams the butt of his shotgun into the thing's stomach, shoves away. Concentrates on staying conscious, coherent through sheer force of will. _Jesus_ , he thinks. _Fuck, please_.  
  
"Down," Jared booms, and Jensen drops.  
  
A burst from Jared's gun and it's quiet again. Jensen feels the muscles in his body lose tension, collapse to the ground. Every pound of weight pressing into the dirt. He can't carry anything. Not an ounce. "Just the one?" he asks. There's a stone digging into his cheekbone.  
  
"Yeah," Katie says. "Straggler."  
  
"Okay," Jensen says. He looks up. Jared's standing tall, still staring out into the expanding darkness, strong shoulders tapering down to the trembling mouth of the gun in his hands.  
  
"We should make camp," Jared says. "Maybe two awake at a time."  
  
Jensen touches the back of his head. "Am I bleeding?"  
  
"A little," Katie says. She leans over him, presses down hard where the corpse had clawed him. "Does it hurt?"  
  
"Fuck." He smacks her hand away. "Yes, it hurts."  
  
She smirks, then goes to glance over the corpse. "Damn," she says. "This shirt would have looked good on you, Padalecki." She shakes her head. "Head shots, friend."  
  
Jared comes over, stares down at this newly-still, dead thing. He taps the back of his finger against the blue marker in Katie's front pocket. "Another one bites the dust."  
  
Jensen closes his eyes. He can feel the sand clinging to his eyelashes. He focuses on making his heartbeat slow. He thinks he could maybe get it all the way down. "We can't even get through a fight," he says.  
  
****  
  
Katie builds a fire and passes around two tins of Spam. "I would be queen of the Girl Scouts," Katie says, after, pulling a blanket over herself. "I would be the Boy Scouts' god." She kicks Jared hard.  
  
"Ow," he says.  
  
"Oops." Katie closes her eyes. "Good night." She's not exactly subtle.  
  
Jared takes the hint, comes to stand next to Jensen. "Could you sit?" he asks.  
  
Jensen is dizzy. It'd be better to stand--a higher vantage point--but. He shrugs. He sits down hard, feels the knobby ends of his pelvis bone thrum.  
  
"We should talk, you know?" Jared's on his knees, stretching his arms up toward the sky. His spine pops. He bumps Jensen's shoulder.  
  
"Yeah," Jensen says. He feels the word scrape past the mucus in his throat. He can see Jared turn to face him from the corner of his eye.  
  
"Jensen. Come on. Look at me."  
  
Jensen glances at Jared, quick, then sweeps past him, into the night. The corpses could come, anytime. He wants to tell Jared that they don't have this kind of time. They can't afford this sort of luxury.  
  
"Jensen." Jared goes to scrub a hand through his hair but gets caught in the tangle of it. He drops his hand, frustrated. "Jensen, it's home. It's San Antonio. You heard it on the radio, same as me. Everyone who got out is at Fort Sam. Everybody."  
  
Jared doesn't want to say it. Jensen can see his lips go thin and tight. He waits, forces Jared's hand.  
  
"My parents, Jen. My family." Jared's voice sounds fragile. Like you could put a nail to it and tap once to shatter. "Everyone."  
  
Jensen closes up shop, tucks away all his loose pieces, the things pulsing cold inside him. He doesn't look at Jared.  
  
"Jensen, come on." Jared's voice cracks. "Don't be angry at me." He's got tears in his voice.  
  
Jensen looks at Jared, the clean trails down Jared's cheeks, cutting a path down through the grime. Jared wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, sucks up his snot. Jensen's hands clench around his shotgun. He could be vicious right now. He has the capability. He'd even enjoy it. He brings a hand up to Jared's bottom lip, tears off a flap of dead skin. Keeps his mouth shut tight to spare them both.  
  
Jared's hands come up too fast to avoid. Cupping Jensen's face. His eyes searching Jensen's, tears bright and battering. This close. Sucks in a shuddering breath. "Why are you so _sad_ , man?"  
  
Jensen puts a hand on Jared's chest. Feels it rise and fall. He stretches his lips, up and over his teeth, a wide-slitted smile.  
  
****  
  
Jensen used to leave his shit at the dry cleaner's all the time. Someone would take his suits and dress shirts there, his assistant or agent or girlfriend, and he'd ignore the receipt on his fridge because fuck that. It was easier to buy a new suit the next time he needed one.  
  
He explained it to Jared, once, lying back on the couch, legs in Jared's lap, but Jared just rolled his eyes and tugged hard at the hair on Jensen's shins. "I like that one shirt you have. The one that's white and kind of shiny."  
  
"You would. Fucking magpie."  
  
"Get it back, brosef." Jared stretched an arm out to snag a script off the coffee table, flipped it open with a groan.  
  
Jensen watched Jared read. He pulled the throw pillow out from under his head, tossed it onto the armchair, resettled. "I'm never gonna wear it," he said. "It makes me look like an assistant at WME."  
  
"I'll wear it," Jared said. He clicked his tongue, staring down at the pages.  
  
"You'll look like a fool."  
  
Jared raised one eyebrow but didn't look up from his script. "Keep it up," he said.  
  
They ended up at the dry cleaner's that weekend. Jared combed through a pile of unclaimed clothes, holding a cup of coffee high and far away from the clean shirts.  
  
Jensen stood back, then perched on the counter, swung his legs. It was fucking early. He kind of needed to piss.  
  
Jared straightened, Jensen's shiny-ass shirt clutched in his hand. The damn thing caught the light. "Found it!" Jared pronounced. He was grinning ear to ear.  
  
He looked so damn happy, and it caught in Jensen's chest, made him smile, too, warm and pleased. He felt every inch of the lazy morning, of knowing it was going to be a beautiful day, and that tomorrow would be a long stretch of empty Sunday. Paced laps of time. He winked at Jared.  
  
Jared threw back his head and laughed. "You just _winked_ at me."  
  
Jensen shrugged. "Is this noise because you liked it?"  
  
"I'm embarrassed on your behalf."  
  
"Fuck you, I'm sexy."  
  
"The way Gumby's sexy."  
  
Jensen raised an eyebrow. "Gumby?"  
  
Jared pulled the corners of his mouth down, tilted his head, considering. "Turns out he's my go-to for asexuality. Admittedly strange." He came close, held the shirt up to Jensen. "You look like you just came from Las Vegas. Only the sexiest city in Nevada," he drawled.  
  
Jensen snickered. Jared smelled like Old Spice and his goddamn caramel macchiato that was seventy parts sugar to every part coffee. "What would I do without you?" Jensen joked, but it shifted gears, came out too sincere. Jensen tightened his smile into a smirk, slid his hand into his pocket and tangled his fingers in the fabric there.  
  
"Hey," Jared said. He put a hand high on Jensen's thigh, his palm spanning him. He looked Jensen in the eye. "You'd be fine."  
  
****  
  
It's the best time of day. Sun not too high in the air, the earth still exhaling night-cold. Jensen can see clear and bright and for miles. Each leaf on every tree with its own crisp outline. Like the day was made for seeing. Like God is telling him that there will be something to look at today.  
  
This morning, when Jensen woke Jared up, all it took was the noise of his footstep towards Jared's prone figure. Jared rolled over, grabbed the strap of his pack, then rolled back and sat up, pulling the bag on in one practiced motion. Jared slapped Katie's ass and she broke awake, "Fuck you," on her lips.  
  
Jared hasn't looked backward once all day. He squints at the horizon.  
  
"You're going to get a headache," Jensen says.  
  
Jared relaxes, furrows going flat. He licks his lips, one hand rising to stroke at his furry chin. "I want to shave." His hand slides over his cheeks, fingers his sideburns. "You think we could find a razor? Still have a couple bars of soap."  
  
"Maybe," Jensen says. Jared's trying to get presentable, Jensen knows. For when they get to where they're going. Jensen's clenching his jaw too often; there's this whine in his ears. He fakes a yawn, trying to get his ears to pop. "You could use my knife if not."  
  
Jared smiles at him. He claps a hand on Jensen's shoulder.  
  
Jensen nods at the ground, then easily breaks the point of contact, scratching at a pretend itch on his nose. He doesn't want to have to fake this. He drifts toward Katie on his other side. "You're quiet," he says.  
  
She hums vaguely.  
  
"Everything okay?" It's a stupid question, Jensen knows.  
  
She doesn't answer. Jensen's not sure if she heard him. He lets the silence stretch for a little while--then snips it with, "Is anyone out there, out there, out there?" He fakes an echo, watching Katie from the corner of his eye. Still nothing. He chews on his lip, drops his head forward. A drop of sweat is slipping down the slope of his nose. He waits for it to let go, holding as still as he can while walking. He feels stupid. He feels stupid for feeling stupid.  
  
Jared tilts down, toward Jensen's ear. "You remember when she'd go out on auditions? It was easy to tell which ones she really wanted."  
  
"Yeah," Jensen whispers back, glad for the attention, for the change in topic. "She'd steal you for the days leading up. Running lines and shit."  
  
"No," Jared says. "Well, yeah. But those were also the ones she got quiet about." He shrugs. "She gets pent up when she's like--" he circles his hand in the air, "--anticipatory, or whatever."  
  
"How do you know that?" Jensen asks.  
  
Jared scratches at his neck. "Uhh, you know." He looks over at Jensen. "Those were the ones I knew to offer my help for."  
  
"Right," Jensen says. He pinches the loose skin at Katie's elbow. "Is it totally fucked that I didn't know that? Do I have my head up my ass?"  
  
Jared snorts.  
  
Katie looks up at him, blinks. "What?" she asks.  
  
Jared laughs and Jensen shakes his head, lets go of Katie. "Never mind."  
  
Katie sighs. "I'm sorry. I got a little lost. I'm here."  
  
Jared winks at her, then pats Jensen on the back. "Hey," he says. "I'm gonna run up front a little. My knees are aching."  
  
Jensen nods. He watches Jared go. The broad back, the efficient motion. Long legs eating up road.  
  
"He wants to ask you how much longer to San Antonio," Katie says. She barely waits for Jared to be out of earshot. "You know that, right? He's been swallowing that question all day."  
  
"Yeah," Jensen says. "He should just ask. I'm not going to flip out."  
  
"You flinch," she says. "You don't even have to be watching for it to see." Katie rubs her hands over her face, pinches at her cheeks. "He says it's not--it isn't worth it. To him."  
  
Jensen's heart hurts. "He's a fucking freak, right?" He rubs at his chest with the heel of his hand. "Still good. Kind and shit."  
  
"Yeah," she says. Her gaze moves across his face like a blush.  
  
Jensen spits. He blinks hard. "You're cool, too," he says, pushing up a smirk.  
  
Katie rolls her eyes. "Thanks."  
  
Jensen stares after Jared. He looks excited, even from the back. Jensen can see it really clearly. He could count the threads in Jared's tee. He fumbles for Katie's hand, grips it tight. "I made him get rid of the dogs," he says. "When we were still in Canada. Before we made it across the border. I made him leave them behind." He says it easily, like it was rehearsed. Like he's been waiting. "I had to tie them up. They wouldn't stop following us." Jensen shrugs. "Sadie was whining when I did it. That high whine? It got stuck in my ears. Just lodged between my brain and skull for weeks after. Jared cried. I didn't talk to him for a few days."  
  
Katie doesn't say anything for a while, just swings their linked hands between them.  
  
Jensen can't stop jabbing at his teeth with his tongue. Counting each one. Tasting the fillings. He'd be screwed if one fell out. Everything's harder to replace, now. You can't just let things go missing.  
  
"I made my best friend feel like a slut for sleeping with her boyfriend," Katie says, suddenly. "We were fifteen. She lost her virginity first, and I just--I don't know. I really made sure she knew I thought she was a slut. I was so angry." Her voice is steady. "We're still friends. I still wonder if I really fucked that up for her. I was too afraid to ask."  
  
Jensen keeps quiet. He looks at every scene, the details in the corners.  
  
"It's one of the things I think about all the time," Katie says.  
  
****  
  
His phone rang. It took him a second to realize what it was, and then he was shoving his hand into his pocket, struggling to rip it out as fast as possible. His fingers felt numb. "Hello?" he demanded.  
  
"Jensen," his dad said. He laughed. "Jensen."  
  
Jensen dug his fingers into Jared's arm. "Who is it?" Jared asked. He barreled Jensen into a less crowded hallway, avoiding the cots set up in the makeshift hospital. "Jensen, who is that?"  
  
"Dad," Jensen said. "Oh fuck. Oh, thank God." He pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Jensen," his dad said again. He was choked up. His voice was wet and tearing ragged down the middle.  
  
Jensen felt his throat close up. He fought tears. "Dad, don't cry." He shoved Jared away, turned to the wall. "Don't cry, okay? What's going on? Is everything okay; are you okay?" He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, sloppy.  
  
"Are you safe?" his dad asked. "Do you have someone? Is Jared with you?"  
  
"Yes. Yeah." Jensen couldn't stop crying. It was so dumb. Jared reached for him, but Jensen pushed his hands away, shaking his head. "Dad, you're okay, right?"  
  
"Yes," his dad lied. "I'm okay." He cleared his throat, said strong, "Just let me hear your voice for a little bit."  
  
"Are you with Mom?" Jensen asked. "Is--" He couldn't ask. Names caught behind his tonsils.  
  
"Jensen, don't--" He heard his dad struggle. He could almost see his dad's eyes growing wary. "They're at peace. They were sick, for a little while, but I've got that hunting rifle you gave me."  
  
Jensen bit his fist.  
  
"I wish you didn't make me tell you that," his dad said.  
  
He sounds bad, Jensen thought. He felt frantic.  
  
"You don't go to church too often, do you, Jensen?"  
  
"No, sir." He straightened up, hitched a breath. "Not for a while, now, if I'm being honest."  
  
"Okay," his dad said. Simple. It cracked Jensen's heart.  
  
"But I believe in God, Dad. And heaven. I do. I still believe in everything. Everything, okay?"  
  
"Okay," his dad said.  
  
"I think God is great. He's bigger than you, and good, and he's that all the time. He's great all the time." Jensen tripped over his words. _Hurry_ , he said to himself. _Oh fuck, hurry up_. "Okay, Dad? Okay?"  
  
"Okay." His dad sighed. Jensen listened close. He wasn't sure if it was enough. He wished he had more.  
  
"Don't grind your teeth, Dad," he said.  
  
His dad huffed out a laugh. He said, "You know, it was never easy, you being so far away. I think your momma wanted you closer. Never got happy with being without you." His voice came back into focus, sharp as an ice chip. "Don't come home, Jensen. There's nothing in Texas. There's nobody."  
  
"Yeah," Jensen said. "Yes."  
  
His dad sighed. "I think God knew, don't you? That I'd need to talk to you today."  
  
Jensen couldn't breathe.  
  
"Feels like you're right here. I feel real close to you." His dad opened and closed his mouth. Jensen could hear the sticky noise of it. "Old and sentimental. Sorry, Jensen." He exhaled, this long slow whoosh of escaping air. "I didn't want this to be silly."  
  
"Dad," Jensen said. "Don't close your eyes." He was breaking. Big pieces splintering off the face of him, like glaciers under sun: the crack, the thundering noise.  
  
****  
  
Jared's sleeping fitfully. Jensen reaches over and takes Jared's earlobe between his thumb and index finger, rubs it slowly. He looks up, sees Katie watching. "Um. He, uh. It makes him lie still," Jensen says. He squeezes one eye shut. "This is embarrassing."  
  
"Yeah," Katie says. She bites at a hangnail, delicately picks it off her tongue and wipes it onto the grass. "Hey, so. You know that you help him be kind, right? You let us both be--" She shrugs, looking up. "--be people." She drops her gaze back to Jensen's, taps her shoes, the tally. "You've got us beat by a mile."  
  
Jensen's eyes get wet. "Fuck. Not much difference between drops in a bucket," he says, laughing. He doesn't wipe at his tears. She might not have noticed and he doesn't want to draw her attention to them. It's dark, and cold, and the sky is crowded with bears and scorpions and gods.  
  
****  
  
The buildings started a few miles back. Tall, open windows crawling with ivy. A house slipped onto the bough of a tree like a bangle, branches piercing it back to front. Jensen watches Jared, the stiff set of his jaw, the resolute march forward.  
  
"It's quiet here," Katie says, "in San Antone."  
  
Jared grinds his teeth. He shoves his way through brush, hits the concrete barrier demarcating the highway. He hops over it with a huff, but doesn't stick the landing, backpack rocking him off-balance. He stumbles, dropping to a knee, then shrugs off the backpack, throws it at the ground. "Fuck this. Someone fucking take this."  
  
Jensen tosses his shotgun to Katie, then grabs the backpack, shoulders the weight. Jared's already stalking off, climbing up the curve of the highway. It's noon, in August, in Texas, and the air is sippable. It radiates off the cracking asphalt. "Jared," Jensen says. "Wait up."  
  
Katie doesn't bother to keep the guns at the ready, just jogs after Jensen, weapons jangling.  
  
Jared stops at the height of the highway ramp. He climbs up onto the side, tall and skinny. He brings a hand to his eyes, and the sun cuts his outline out, sharp and clean, a picture to look at. Jensen's at his feet, his head coming up to Jared's knees. He puts his hands on the hot concrete, soaks up the heat into the fleshy pads of his palms.  
  
"Jared--" he starts.  
  
"No," Jared says. His voice is rough.  
  
The city's laid out under them. Highways diving and rising and rushing forward, tangled and empty. _We built this once_ , Jensen thinks.  
  
"Jared," Katie says. "We haven't run into a corpse for days." She hops up onto the barrier on the other side of Jared, sits with her back to the view. She leans her head against Jared's thigh. "They go where the people go. Where people aren't--" She lets her voice drift away. "We haven't run into a corpse for days."  
  
Jared drops the hand shielding his eyes; Jensen reaches up, touches his fingers to it. Jared doesn't flinch away. Jensen breathes in humid air, feels it stick all the way down to the pit of him. His arm surges up and he grips Jared's hand tight, fingers interlocking.  
  
Jared doesn't look down. "They're here. We're going to find a settlement. Everyone said--there's supposed to be people here. They’re at the Fort. They are." He sounds like a little boy.  
  
Jensen holds on.  
  
"Okay, Jensen?"  
  
Jensen can feel Katie staring at him. She'd kick him if she could reach. He nods. "Yeah, Jared. Okay."  
  
Jared jumps off and onto the ground. He kisses Jensen, slow and tender, bites at Jensen's lower lip. Like they have time, like Jensen is the only thing that matters, like the taste of him is sweet and clean.  
  
****  
  
After Canada, they went to San Francisco first. The settlements there were perched atop hills, scattered across the bay. They spent hours answering questions. "Nice to know you can count on bureaucracy anyway," Jared said. "Y'all are sticking around real nice."  
  
"Occupation?" the man across from the table asked. Jared's comment rolled off his slickly oiled back.  
  
"Actor," Jared said. "But I'm damn good with my hands." He wiggled ten fingers.  
  
Jensen snorted.  
  
Jared reached over and rubbed a thumb across Jensen's right eyebrow. "Look at that. You see that shape? Masculine, clean. I've got a technique." He leant forward, serious. "It's really more of an art."  
  
The man squinted. "What is the nature of your relationship?"  
  
Jared chuckled, rocked back into his seat. He crossed his arms. "Fuck if I know."  
  
"We're friends," Jensen said, firm.  
  
The man wrote something down. "Someone will show you to your room for the night. Thank you for your time." He cleared his throat. "And a very sincere offer of condolences for your ordeal. For any losses you might have suffered." He rose abruptly.  
  
"Thank you," Jared said.  
  
He stood there waiting. Licked his lips. "Was it very hard out there?" he asked, but he didn't wait for an answer, just left as quick as he was able.  
  
His replacement was an older woman. She reminded Jensen of his momma, and he kept at her heels, stuck close, as she strode down the hallway, led them into their room.  
  
"Would you like me to lock your door?" she asked.  
  
"Excuse me?" Jared said.  
  
The woman's smile was maternal. "It suits some of our newest arrivals. Offers a certain sense of security. No one, no thing can get in. You know. There are no monsters under the bed."  
  
"That's fine," Jensen said. "Thank you."  
  
"This is so fucked," Jared had said, as soon as the door closed behind her. "We shouldn't be in fucking San Francisco, Jensen." He looked out the window, up six stories. The fog was rolling in, hiding the ground, the scorched earth. Suspending them up in the heavens.  
  
"We're not going to Texas," Jensen said. He laid down on the bed, gingerly. Spread-eagled.  
  
"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on," Jared said. He turned to look down at Jensen, flicked Jensen hard on the nuts.  
  
The door slammed open. A crash coinciding with a silhouette clipping, "Get the fuck out."  
  
"What the fuck?" Jared said, jumping back.  
  
Jensen fumbled for the nightstand, slapping at the light switch, grabbing at the handgun. White fluorescent light a sudden flood. He looked up, aimed at a face he recognized.  
  
"Katie?" Jared asked.  
  
"Oh fuck," she said. She looked between the two of them, eyes flicking back and forth between their faces, going softer at each familiar feature. She brought a hand up to her mouth. "Damn it. I'm gonna cry," she said.  
  
"Okay." Jensen nodded.  
  
"Don't judge me," she said. "It's not because I'm a girl."  
  
"We know," Jared said. "We won't."  
  
The sun was falling; light at its warmest. It touched her, soft at her temples, the line of her nose. She brushed tears away with careful sweeps of her fingers. "Okay," she said, sniffing. "You have to go."  
  
"Why?" Jensen asked.  
  
She turned, looking down the hallway. "Don't make me tell you, okay?" she said. "Please?" She came back, hugged Jared hard, gaze locked onto Jensen's over Jared's shoulder. "Take me with you," she said.  
  
****  
  
It takes them two and a half days to work their way through Fort Sam. Jared kicks down every door, working their way out in circles, housing at the center. In the first unit, Katie goes into the bathroom, raids the medicine cabinet. She's popping Advil when Jared walks by, says, "Leave their shit alone. I'm serious."  
  
Katie shares a look with Jensen as soon as Jared's gone, scoops handfuls of pill bottles into her bag. She tries the faucets, then shoves past Jensen in the doorway. "So we're going to let him spiral out? That's the plan?" she asks over her shoulder.  
  
"I can't force him to see something he doesn't want to see," Jensen says. He goes to the sink, tries the faucets again. He's not sure why; as if his touch would work a kind of magic.  
  
****  
  
Sky's melting purple and red, a sheet of paper burning. Jensen and Jared are bent over the open hood of a rusting car. Fat moon casting borrowed light. Jensen can hear Katie snoring.  
  
"It's old," he says, tapping the car's insides. It echoes. Jensen boxes his voice, keeps it hushed.  
  
"Good," Jared says. "Then I'll know how to get it running without certification from a vocational school."  
  
Jensen straightens, looks around. He rests his ass against the car. "So these were your old stomping grounds?" They're surrounded by hedges and runaway lawns. Broken windows lit in bony white. The peeling paint on the garage door across the street is the color of frosting; the house is trimmed in pink. Wood-carved numbers of the familiar address still stacked in a neat column. Everything steeped in a deep and hazy blue.  
  
"Yessir," Jared says. He stays focused. "The car's gonna help. We'll cover more ground."  
  
"Maybe the stereo works," Jensen says. "We can Pied Piper any survivors out." He's teetering.  
  
"Yeah," Jared says, distracted. "Maybe." He stops what he's doing, braces his elbow against the car, looks up at Jensen. "Hey, actually. Maybe we should split up, you know? That might not be a bad idea."  
  
"Jared." Jensen swallows. He forces himself not to tense. "I don't think--Katie's not gonna be down." His cheeks color. "And I'm not real excited by the thought of it myself. You gonna make me go off all by my lonesome? A man without his Tonto?" he jokes. It's too vulnerable.  
  
Jared comes to a little, searches Jensen's gaze. "No. You're right." His face grave and kind. "It would be weird, to not be at your back."  
  
He looks brand new, Jensen thinks. Made of good things. It's the first time in a long time that Jensen feels like Jared's there. "Can I kiss you?" he asks.  
  
Jared laughs. His eyes break away from Jensen's, back down toward the creaking engine. "Relax. It's just my Jumbo Juicy Lip Balm making you talk." He smacks his dry, chapped lips. "Sugar plum," he says. "De-lectable."  
  
Jensen pulls his zipper up to his chin, pops the collar on his jacket. His chuckle dying quietly into stiff and fraying cloth.  
  
It's dusk. The world looks strange; built for beauty.  
  
****  
  
Jared sleeps in fits. He lays out in the back of the rusty car, curled around plastic jugs full of gasoline. They leave all the doors splayed open, and Jensen perches on a bit of the backseat, one leg braced on the ground outside, hand resting on Jared's knee.  
  
Katie's sitting on the roof of the car. She's nodding off. Jensen can see her head drifting forward, the kick awake.  
  
Jared mumbles in his sleep, rolls, and Jensen breaks contact, raises up off the seat until Jared settles. Waits until Jared's breathing slows again to sit back down, to wrap his hand around Jared's ankle.  
  
"It's your turn to sleep," Katie says.  
  
Jensen shakes his head. "Let him rest. He could use a few more hours."  
  
Katie jumps to the ground on the opposite side of the car, then stoops, dipping her head inside. "That's sweet of you," she says to Jensen. She squats, presses a hand to Jared's cheek. She strokes his cheekbone with her thumb. "Jared. Wake up."  
  
Jensen pulls away, retreats to the driver's seat. He watches Jared in the rearview mirror. His eyes opening. The softness fading; lines appearing there, there, and there.  
  
****  
  
Katie screams, "Six!" and Jensen races around a corner, runs face-first into a corpse. He slams his head forward, rams the thing's head, then backpedals down the hallway, emptying rounds into the corpse hurtling at him. Two more behind that one, and Jensen blows them away quick and easy, makes caverns of their skulls.  
  
"Three down!" Jensen says.  
  
"Two!" Katie replies.  
  
Jared's quiet. Jensen moves, glancing into the three bedrooms he passes, sprints through the vault-ceilinged living room, into the kitchen. Flagstone flooring and marble countertops gleam under the sunlight pouring in through tall windows. The light catches in Jared's hair as he swings a rolling pin at a corpse's head. Over and over. The crunch a familiar noise Jensen just can't get used to. The corpse falls to the ground and Jared stands over it, hands gripping the ceramic tiles of the kitchen island, kicking the body with steady, forceful swings. Jensen doesn't count them. He doesn't really want to know how many there are.  
  
Katie comes through the opposite door into the kitchen, to Jared's back. She puts a hand over her mouth, leaves, retching.  
  
When Jared finally stops, Jensen asks, "You get it?"  
  
"Yeah," Jared says. "This fucker's probably done." He slaps at a picture of this redhead and her German Shepherd, held up on the refrigerator by a Domino's magnet. "I knew this girl, by the way." He squints at the body. "You think that was her?"  
  
****  
  
Katie dabs at Jared's face with a disinfectant wipe. He let the corpse get pretty close. Jensen watches them, Jared with his legs kicked up on a white leather couch, Katie sitting on the glass-topped coffee table she'd dragged closer. Jensen's got Jared's shoes in a pot on top of a camp stove he set up in the adjoining kitchen. "Doesn't smell the best in here," Jensen says.  
  
"Drag the body out," Katie says.  
  
Jensen shrugs.  
  
"Okay," Katie says to Jared. "You're looking fine as hell." She tosses the wipe onto the table.  
  
Jared looks up from the photo he's got in his hands, drags a hand down his face. He smiles at Katie. "Thank you."  
  
She rolls her eyes, kisses him lightly on the cheek. Stands, snatching a magazine out of the fan on the table, then collapses into the recliner across from Jared. "I call break," she says.  
  
Jensen puts his elbows on the counter, slides both hands through his hair. When he looks up, he catches Jared looking away from him, back down at the photo.  
  
"So this girl," Jared says. "She was, um. My first. You know." His cheeks go red.  
  
Jensen blinks. As if they needed one more damn thing.  
  
Katie lowers the magazine, half-rises toward Jared. "Oh my god, Jay..."  
  
Jared holds a hand up, this half-suppressed grin on his face. "Naw," he says. "Just joking." He snickers. "How crazy would that be?"  
  
Jensen chokes on a laugh.  
  
"You're an ass. Lesson learned," Katie says. She picks the magazine back up. "For like, the millionth time."  
  
"Never claimed you were a quick study," Jensen says.  
  
"And now that's both of you," she says.  
  
Jared grins, chugs at a milk gallon they filled with water. "No," he says, wiping at his mouth. "I used to see her around a lot at that dog park near Jeff's place. Harley bit her dog. It was this whole fucking ordeal."  
  
Jensen's throat goes dry. He leans over the boiling pot of water, the steam scalding his face. "Yeah?" He speaks carefully, making sure his voice doesn't crack. "Why'd Harley bite her?"  
  
Jared shrugs. "Sadie stole a toy. Harley was taking sides. It wasn't nice of either of 'em."  
  
Jensen's surprised his eyes are dry. He picks at the thin, soft skin under them. "But they were good dogs," he says. He doesn't look at Jared.  
  
"Yeah," Jared says. "They were good dogs." He's quiet for a beat, and then: "Hey."  
  
Jensen meets Jared's eyes.  
  
"This girl probably didn't survive, did she?"  
  
Jensen squeezes his nose shut between the knuckle of his index finger and his thumb, pops his ears. He can't bring himself to say, and then:  
  
"No," Katie says. It's firm.  
  
Jared nods. "And there's no settlement in San Antonio. No real survivors."  
  
"No," Katie says.  
  
Jared puts the picture down, lays it on his right thigh. "And my family. They're not alive."  
  
Katie's eyes fly to him, stricken, but it's okay, because that one's for Jensen. "No, Jared," Jensen says. "I'm sorry."  
  
Jared doesn't say anything for a long while. Jensen stares at his downturned face. The clean-shaven jaw. He remembers scraping his knife against it, in long, careful strokes this morning. How smooth Jared's skin was under his fingers. _I won't have to do that tomorrow_ , Jensen thinks. _Probably I won't_.  
  
Jared's rising and falling. Chest and shoulders in moving proof of his heartbeat. Jensen waits for Jared to cry. He thinks he'll be ready for it. He steels himself. And then Jared takes this long, jagged breath in, and says, "Oh fuck," and punches out this sob, and Jensen can't move. He can't move, because this isn't real, it has to be a dream; that keen isn't a sound that Jared makes, and if Jensen moves, if he lifts so much as a finger, he won't wake up. None of them will wake up.  
  
****  
  
"I'm really good at crying," Jared says. "I'm probably a better crier than you."  
  
"I've always said that about you," Jensen says. The car doesn't run very smooth. Jensen feels every bump in the road, every crack. The headlights are faint.  
  
"It's because I go for it," Jared says. "I really go there."  
  
Jensen grins. "Are you watching the back?" he asks.  
  
"Yes, sir." Jared salutes. He rubs at his red eyes. "I still have a really big dick," he says.  
  
"Oh my god," Katie says.  
  
Jared peers at her in the backseat. "Oh good," he says. "You're up."  
  
****  
  
Jensen wakes up alone in the car. It's stopped on the side of the road, and the cold floats right above his skin, pools at his elbows and the backs of his knees. Jared's got his back against the door, and it looks like Katie's refueling, a gas jug cradled with both hands. He can hear them, muffled through the glass.  
  
"I think it would have been better, maybe. If Jensen had made me understand," Jared says carefully. "If we hadn't come. If I hadn't--seen it."  
  
"Maybe," Katie says. She swings her ponytail over her shoulder, gathers it up into one hand, studies the ends of it. She brushes it against her palm. She needs a cut, Jensen remembers.  
  
"I think--" Jared's halting. "I don't know. He made me think, maybe, that everything would be okay."  
  
"He said yes to you," Katie says. Her breath clouds.  
  
"Yeah," Jared says. "He said yes to me."  
  
"Is he allowed to say no?"  
  
"Of course he is," Jared says. He fidgets under Katie's gaze, stretches his arms out wide on top of the car, leans back. "Look at that," he says, pointing with his chin. "What kind of bird is that?"  
  
"Jesus," she says. "Jared." She touches his face. "Just tell him how to help you."  
  
"Fuck it," Jared says. He straightens some, gets tall and looming so her hand can't quite reach anymore, still spanning wide. "I'm not going to force him to owe me anything."  
  
Katie looks angry. There's a streak on the glass and Jensen can't really see her mouth, but he thinks she looks angry. He can hear her twist the cap back onto the nozzle of the tank, slam the little gas door closed.  
  
Jared's t-shirt is wrinkled against the glass, his body steaming a halo. "Hey," he says softer. "I think it's your birthday."  
  
She smiles at that, wistful, then closes her eyes. "Ice cream cake," she says, determinedly. "Mint chocolate. Devil's food. And a candle for every one of my years. Like an entire rectangle of fire."  
  
Jared laughs.  
  
"And we're at a fucking awful Benihana's, even though it's moved past 'so-lame-it's-cool' back to lame. But the chef made that little onion volcano, and he was cute and flirted with me, and I have presents to open. And I'm gonna go home tomorrow, because my mom wants to barbeque in the backyard." Her voice gets smaller. "And all I'm worried about is not getting too drunk because I have a six a.m. call time, and I don't want to be too tired to eat burgers in the Valley. All my friends are there." She's not crying.  
  
Jared goes to her, wraps her up tight in his arms, face pressed into her hair. "You're here," he says. "And I'm here with you. And Jensen is sleeping in the back of this car. We're alive and we're in Texas." He rocks her. "The sun is rising," he says.  
  
 _I want to owe him things_ , Jensen thinks. He turns over onto his side. He pushes up onto one elbow, rubs at his eyes. It's morning.  
  
****  
  
Jared's quiet, staring out the window. Katie's driving, rifle in her lap, and Jensen and Jared are both in the back seat.  
  
"You're far away," Jensen says. He gathers himself up to say it.  
  
"Am I?" Jared looks over at him. "Stop inching away from me, then, brother." He pats the space next to him.  
  
Jensen slides over, the faux-leather seats squeaking under him. He presses his thigh to Jared's and Jared grunts, puts his arm up behind Jensen's head. Jared settles back in his seat, slouching so he's level with Jensen, turns his head so his mouth is near Jensen's ear. "You know what I always remember?"  
  
Jensen waits, listening.  
  
"That huge fight I had with Megan, right before she was going to fly up to visit. You remember that?" Jared's voice is pitched low. "And I was about to tell her not to come. But then you threw a roll of paper towels at my head. And you had this fucking sneer on your face that got, like, seared into my corneas."  
  
Jensen tilts his head just the slightest bit toward Jared. He looks down at Jared's hands. "I called her," Jensen admits. "Told her she could crash at my place if you were still being a punk-ass."  
  
Jared laughs. "Did you? Fuck." Jared scrunches his eyes closed, opens them back up wide. He doesn't let Jensen look away. "You make hard decisions. And some of those decisions are mine." His mouth twists. "I don't make things easy on you, I don't think."  
  
"Yes," Jensen says. "You do."  
  
Jared sighs. He turns his face away toward the window and Jensen misses the heat. "What do we do now?"  
  
Jensen picks at a cut bleeding through his jeans. "Survive," he says.  
  
Jared swallows, taps a knuckle against the glass. "Where are we going?"  
  
"Away from here," Jensen says. _These are the answers I have_ , he thinks.  
  
****  
  
Jensen used to go to a lot of art shows. All his friends owned SLR's--even Toby who rented a couch in someone's studio--and a few of them actually knew what to do with them. He'd look at series with photos entitled _All the Kids Fall on Their Faces_ , or, _You Are King of the Dinosaurs_ , or _Black and White #236_ ; linger on the nudes.  
  
He wishes he had a camera, fleetingly. To capture the clouds like the underside of an egg carton, little cups all in pulpy gray. The rain misting down over yellow grass, dusting his face with water. The car flipped over on the two lane highway, burning, smoke fizzling, fire bright and orange. The mass of corpses coming at them, up from the left corner, a threatening and foreign presence.  
  
"I'm counting 32," Jared says.  
  
"Sixteen on my end," Katie replies.  
  
"Twenty-seven and counting," Jensen says. He spits. "The car's really done?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Jared says. "I should have just gone through the corpse."  
  
"No," Jensen says. "It's an instinct. Don't worry about it."  
  
Katie buttons every button on her jacket, stares up at the sky. "I think it's going to pour."  
  
Jensen glances over at Jared, the loose lines of him. The thousand-yard stare. Jensen bites his lip, pumps his shotgun with one hand and swings it up into his grip. " _Signs of Spring_ ," he says.  
  
"What?" Jared asks, meeting his eyes.  
  
Jensen holds up an imaginary camera with one hand, makes the sound of the click. Blinks away the rain dripping down his forehead. "For the gallery."  
  
Jared's puzzled face clears into a laugh. "Yeah? Artsy." He looks back toward the coming horde, frames it in both hands. " _The eye and everyone in it_ ," he says.  
  
" _Last stand_ ," Katie says.  
  
"Nah," Jared says. "Too depressing." He bends over, picks a long stalk of grass, sticks it between his teeth. He grins around it, chewing, tearing it down into its fibers, the very strings.  
  
"Jared," Jensen says, the name plucked from his insides.  
  
****  
  
The corpses crash onto them like a wave, and before they know it, they're punched back by the tide into a tight circle. The ground is muddy. Jensen's shoes are slipping. He steps hard on Jared's bare foot, once, when he's leaning away from clawing hands, reloading his gun.  
  
He's not scared for a long time. The rain is sweet, it slips over his mouth. He kills sixteen before losing count, and then he hears Jared say, "I'm out," and feels Jared's hand plunge into his pocket, hears the fabric tear when Jared pulls the knife out.  
  
Katie says, "Shit, I can't see," and Jensen can't turn around to see what that means, if she's bleeding, or if her hair's in her face, or what, and suddenly his hands are shaking, and he's looking at the way the corpses climb over each other to get to him, the way the flesh bursts at their joints and he misses and shouts, "Fuck," because that's one less. That's one less bullet.  
  
 _I should have taken that Hilary Duff movie_ , he thinks. He should have just fucking taken it.  
  
 _I shouldn't have broken up with Jared_.  
  
And then a clap of thunder, a searing glow, the shout of voices.  
  
****  
  
Jensen wakes up on fire. He touches his face and his fingers come away sticky with pus. Katie leans over him, grabs his wrist, holds his hand still. "Hey," she says. "Careful." Her voice competing with the ringing in his ears.  
  
"What happened?" he asks. He's lying down, he thinks. He lifts his neck, looks around, the rumble of an engine underneath him, the tarp stretched over the truck bed he's lying on.  
  
"Grenade. You got a little kickback." She dabs at his neck with a cloth, winces. "They're taking us to a settlement." Her lips are tight.  
  
"Who?" Jensen struggles to swallow, a rush of blood making his vision go spotty.  
  
"I don't know. Hezekiah? Some men. Jared's up front with them."  
  
"Oh," Jensen lets his head fall. His eyes close. "Okay."  
  
"No," Katie says. "It's not okay. Jensen, we're almost there. You have to wake up. We have to leave. You have to tell Jared we should go."  
  
"Okay," he says. He opens his eyes, but they keep fluttering, won't let him get anything but little glimpses, the white creases on Katie's face. "Just--give me a second. I'll take care of it in a second."  
  
****  
  
When he wakes up again, he doesn't open his eyes immediately. Just lays there in the dark. He listens to the noise of tires on dirt, the bump and squeak of the car's undercarriage. The sway of it moving in his body. His lips feel dry and cracked, and there's blood drying on his shoulder. His nose is plugged. The floor is hot under him, little beads of sweat seeping from his pores.  
  
He can hear Jared and Katie, the quiet pitch of their voices, the rise and fall in sync with his breathing, sharing rhythms down to the cell.  
  
He can hear singing. A faint chorus, all in unison.  
  
He opens his eyes. There's a strange man looking down at him, still of face and old. "I'm Hezekiah," he says. He has a gun lain across his lap.  
  
"Jensen," he croaks.  
  
"Morning, Jensen," he says. He reads the question in Jensen's eyes, tilts his head to catch the sound of voices more clearly. "It's Sunday," he shrugs.  
  
They slip past fences.  
  
****  
  
The three of them wash. They get separate shower stalls, two side by side, one across. He can see Katie's feet under the curtain of the shower across from his, but he can't see anything of Jared and he chews on his cheek. When he tastes blood, he knocks on the partition, listens.  
  
Jared starts whistling, and Jensen eases, scrubs to the sound, the evidence of Jared's presence.  
  
They get haircuts one by one. Katie goes first. The woman behind her brandishes scissors, asks, "How would you like it cut, sweetheart?"  
  
Katie shrugs.  
  
The woman looks at Katie in the mirror, cards her fingers through Katie's hair. "I'm going to want to trim the ends, definitely, but what do you think? Do you want to leave it about this length, or it could look cute maybe around the chin." Her smile is bright, the chatter chirpy and staged.  
  
"Could you cut it very short, please?" Katie asks. She folds her hands in her lap, doesn't look up once. The woman falls away into silence. When she's done, Katie fingers a lock of shorn hair, stands and turns away without glancing in the mirror. "Your turn, Jay."  
  
Jared sits down, and Jensen watches him get shaved. Jared luxuriates in the cream, long expanse of throat stripped naked, stubble cut down to the skin. He has exact specifications for his hair, and he runs his hands through it when she's done. He picks at a stray piece at his temple and asks her to trim it a little bit more, there. When she asks if he'd like some mousse, he rises to the level of her excitement, nods.  
  
After, he borrows a pair of tweezers, goes at his brows, staring close into the mirror. When he's done, he puts his hand down heavy on top of the tweezers and doesn't lift it for a long time.  
  
"Alright?" the lady asks.  
  
Jared looks up, smiles at her automatically.  
  
"Would you like to see the back?" she asks, holding up a small mirror.  
  
Jared laughs, takes what she offers, kisses her lightly on the cheek.  
  
Jensen sits through his like Katie, but when he's shaved and trimmed, he stares at himself in the mirror.  
  
He thought he'd look the same. He thought it'd be strange to look at his old face. But it's brand new, what he sees, scarred and worn. Underneath all that dirt and blood and hair, he had been changing all this time.  
  
"Handsome," the woman says. She puts two fingertips on either temple, straightens his head imperceptibly.  
  
 _This is my face_ , he thinks, and he judges it like a stranger's.  
  
****  
  
They tour the compound. It's an old food processing facility, the warehouses, the vats. It takes them until dark. At the end, Hezekiah asks them if they have any questions, and Katie asks, "How many people are here?"  
  
"84," Hezekiah says.  
  
"And how many do you cap it out at?"  
  
"We haven't had to decide, yet."  
  
Jensen can see Katie reassess. It's a more honest answer than she was expecting.  
  
"How did you find us?" Jensen asks. "We were a long way from--wherever this is."  
  
Hezekiah puts his hands in his pockets. "We were scouting. We've been needing advance notice, these last months." He looks troubled for an instant, then says, "Anything else?"  
  
"Can we stay?" Jared asks.  
  
Hezekiah kisses his fist, raises it skyward. "We've made up rooms," he says.  
  
"Room," Jensen says. "We only need one."  
  
They navigate, and Katie brings up the rear, watchful and silent.  
  
****  
  
They move three cots into one room and as soon as Hezekiah leaves, Katie follows. "Where are you going?" Jared calls after her, but she ignores him, closes the door gently.  
  
Jensen lies down on his cot, draws a blanket up over his chest, loose threads skittering across his skin. He kicks off his pants under it. "They took our clothes," he says.  
  
Jared nods, studying the room with more attention than it requires. Like four walls is a luxury. Like three cots and a light is manna.  
  
 _He looks looser_ , Jensen thinks. He drinks in the sight of Jared's smooth face, every mole in its place. "Hey," he says. "We can stay for a little while."  
  
Jared raises an eyebrow. "Are you willing to risk the wrath of Katie? I hear that's pretty bad."  
  
Jensen shrugs. He can barely keep his thoughts together, there's a fuzzy signal somewhere in his head. An antenna dipping just the slightest bit out of place. "I'm missing part of my eyebrow," he says. He touches the empty spot on his left brow. "Look at that. Burned clean off."  
  
"Yeah," Jared says. "It's hard to tell you're human anymore."  
  
"Lie down," Jensen says.  
  
"Why?" Jared grins at him affectionately, and suddenly everything's significant. Everything in this room. The dull green of blankets washed too many times. The plastic netting of the cot under him. The buzz of manufactured light. The smell of soap, new and potent.  
  
It's too silent, and Jensen worries suddenly, irrationally, that he might be deaf, and he says, too loud, "I really need you."  
  
Jared sits.  
  
"I really need you," Jensen says again. "I want you to know. I don't want you to wonder." Jensen watches Jared. He feels sewn up into his skin.  
  
"Okay," Jared says. He lies down on his cot, grabs the edge of Jensen's to drag himself closer. He nudges his face into the space under Jensen's chin, kisses his Adam's apple.  
  
Jared’s breathing is labored and Jensen feels it, the pull, the dragging current. He says, "This is only who I am now. It's not who I'll always be. It's not who I've always been." He feels every single one of his scars. They go to the bone, dark and callused.  
  
"No." Jared shakes his head. "No, man, you're--" He lets out a hot breath, his long fingers stroking Jensen's bare hip. "When this is over," he says. He kisses Jensen's jaw and the new skin there pulls thin, bleeds.  
  
****  
  
They slot in quickly. The first morning, Hezekiah comes to their room, tosses them a cob of corn each, then leans against the doorjamb. "Where's Katie?" he asks.  
  
Jared has his mouth full, but Jensen turns the cob over in his hands, lets it warm them for a little while. "Bathroom," Jensen lies.  
  
Hezekiah nods. "We have jobs for you. You can choose if you want."  
  
Jared wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Jensen will do monologues," he says. "And strip on Tuesday nights."  
  
"Good," Hezekiah says. "A morale booster."  
  
****  
  
Jensen works along the fences, a gun in hand, walking along the perimeter. He wears a Tulane University sweatshirt one of the compost guys gave him, and a pair of shoes that are half a size too small. They pinch his toes. The boy they have working with him is all of nineteen; his head is shaved unevenly, longer behind his ears and at his nape where his reach was strained. His cheeks are always flushed.  
  
"I used to show my dick on webcams," he says.  
  
Jensen's gun hangs around his neck on a jump rope. He locks his fingers around the links of the fence, shakes it. Listens to it rattle.  
  
"I could have made a ton of money off it, if I wanted. People like soldiers. It's a uniform thing."  
  
 _It's probably two o'clock_ , Jensen thinks. He's sinking into the heat, head spinning.  
  
"Old guys would offer me money all the time. Pretend to be college chicks and shit." The kid flicks a drop of sweat off the bridge of his nose. "My name's Brad."  
  
"Okay, Brad," Jensen says.  
  
Brad lapses into silence. He follows Jensen's gaze out, trying to see what Jensen sees. He grabs the links next to Jensen's right hand with his left.  
  
Jensen runs a hand down his face and his palm comes away black with sand. "I think we're in New Mexico," he says.  
  
"Yeah," Brad says. He chews on his red lower lip. "I bet girls really like you. Underneath all that scarring."  
  
Jensen sighs. He puts his hand over his eyes, cracks his fingers apart to stare up at the sun. "We should move. I don't see anything here."  
  
"Okay."  
  
They trudge along. Brad hangs his head.  
  
"Did you know Hezekiah's almost sixty?" Brad asks.  
  
"Yes," Jensen says. "He looks it."  
  
"Really?" Brad's head whips up. He eyes Jensen's profile. "Not to me. My staff sergeant used to say 'black don't crack'."  
  
Jensen raises an eyebrow.  
  
"But he was black, too," Brad says. He's red all over. He's going to peel.  
  
****  
  
Jensen gets a little overwhelmed at mealtimes. The first time they went down to the kitchen for dinner, they'd milled around in line and a girl had tapped Jensen on the shoulder and said, "I really liked your show. It's stupid to say it now, I know, but--I thought of it, a couple times, when the zombies first..." She'd drifted off.  
  
Jensen had gaped. It was hard to wrap his head around it. To really remember what she was talking about.  
  
Jared had to interject. He'd shaken her hand. "Thanks. I'm a little sorry that we didn't do more episodes about zombies. Some sort of how-to." He'd grinned.  
  
She'd shaken her head. "No, that's not what I mean. It's just--" She'd shrugged. "It was nice to think that maybe the world wasn't over, now that things like that existed. That maybe they'd existed all along."  
  
Jensen tried to get Jared and Katie to eat in their room after that, but Katie was too hard to pin down long enough to reach any sort of consensus and Jared just laughed at him and patted his ass.  
  
It's dinner now, and Jensen's sitting at a table with Katie wedged in next to him, and he's staring down at his rice, poking at the fried egg draped over the top of it. Jared asked him to wait, so Jensen stabs at the yolk with his knife, watches it ooze. Jared's across the room, talking to the canning lady, gesticulating wildly. He's practically glowing at her. It's been more than five minutes.  
  
Jensen clenches his fist around the fork, shoves half the egg into his mouth.  
  
Katie swats at his shoulder. "You're, like, the babiest baby."  
  
Jensen shrugs, stuffs his mouth.  
  
"Why are you so obsessed with him?" Katie showily readjusts her untouched plate. "He never flosses anymore."  
  
Jensen puts down his fork, wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve.  
  
Katie's lip curls. "You know you're going to have to wash that, right? By hand?"  
  
"Where have you been?" Jensen demands. He turns in his seat, shadowing her with his torso. "What've you been doing? I don't know anything about you anymore."  
  
She lets out a startled laugh. "What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
Jensen's face is drawn up tight and tense. "You look different," he says. "Your hair or something." He reaches out, but thinks better of it, just barely brushes the tips of his fingers against her face.  
  
She puts a hand to her head, traces the length of her hair. "It's growing," she says.  
  
"I don't like it." Jensen turns back to his food, closes his eyes tight until he sees pinpricks in that red haze of skin-filtered light. He pounds at a knot in his thigh.  
  
"Don't be an asshole," Katie says. "Look at me."  
  
He opens his eyes, and his gaze goes to Jared, then to Katie.  
  
"I don't know if we should stay." She puts her feet up onto the bench, arms atop her knees, glances up at his eyes before repelling away. "Okay, don't look at me."  
  
Jensen goes back to eating. He's almost polished off his plate.  
  
"In San Francisco, I let people die. ' _So that they can achieve a peaceful and final rest_ '. We didn't have enough of anything and I was really scared." Her voice is almost drowned out by the hubbub, the murmur of people talking and laughing. Jared's voice carrying. "So when they asked me to bring the new arrivals to the exit room, I did. I can't make any excuses. I think--I knew I could say no."  
  
"Does Jared know?"  
  
"He's known for a while."  
  
Jensen presses his finger to stray grains of rice, sucks it clean. "Okay, so we leave. We don't have to wait for that to start to happen. We can go."  
  
Katie puts a hand in the crook of Jensen's elbow, fingers over the vein. "But I don't know. Things might be different here," she says. She's chewing on the collar of her sweater. "I don't feel scared here."  
  
Jensen's eyes touch at the place where Jared was last, but he's not there, and Jensen sits tall in his seat. "Look," he says to Katie, "I don't know if this is the place for us either. We just have to figure out our next step. I don't want--" He finds Jared closer than he'd thought, at the table next to theirs, head ducked down, tip of his tongue sticking out as he folds a paper crane for the little girl with her mother at his side.  
  
The thing is, Jensen forgets how good-looking Jared is and it's easy to do, seeing him every day. It takes something big to make Jensen think of it, a new angle he's never seen before, a tux, or:  
  
This. Jared is smiling at the girl, holding out a crane made from a scrap of paper, tiny and white in his big palm. Then when her little fingers close around it, Jared's smile fades and he just nods gravely as she thanks him and Jensen can't finish his sentence. It just fell out of his head.  
  
The light flickers off. When it comes back on, the sound goes, everybody mute. Hezekiah's standing at the door, his hand on the switch. "We have a situation. Retrieve your weapons. Make sure they're yours. Don't grab someone else's firearm. Report to your stations. Thank you for remaining calm," he says, and then he's moving on.  
  
Katie's already got her rifle out from under the table, checking to make sure it's loaded. Jensen's shotgun is stacked up against the wall on the other side of the door with most everyone else's. He's itching to get it back--he can already feel it in his hands, what it would be like when it bucks and spits--and he thinks, somewhere in the back of his head, _Finally_.  
  
And then he sees Jared, unfolding from the table, rising to his full height and it's not painful to look at him anymore; he's just collected and stone-solid. He pulls his gun out of his sweater, getting ready to tug the bulky garment off, and he puts it down on the table, right there in front of the little girl. And when she opens her mouth to wail, her face collapsing into a kind of trembling, Jensen steps toward her and almost says, "Careful." She has a little bird in her hand.  
  
****  
  
He gets a good look at the corpses. He has Jared at his back and Katie at his side, and six men and women flanking out, and he's not running. It's dark but the strip around the fences is flooded with light, generators whirring in the distance.  
  
It's the biggest number he's ever seen. He lost count at sixty. And they sprint, all of them, the stench leading the way, forcing its way into Jensen's nose, digging crevices into his brain. It draws him forward, advancing to study them.  
  
Some died fresh. A corpse gets close, and he can see the lipstick still smeared across her mouth, the stud in her nose. He's reloading his gun but there's not enough time and he goes for his knife but she's on him, pinning him against the fence, one hand knocking into his solar plexus, the other pushing up at his chin. She bites into his shoulder, and he can feel her teeth tear into him, a burst of radiating pain that comes out his mouth.  
  
His eyes are screwed up, and he can _see_ how much it hurts; blood pumping hard in his temples, pants going hot and damp. He's pushing at her, all his strength put into shoving her away; fuck it if she rips out a piece of him as she goes, just as long as she goes, and somebody help him, please. Please. He hears a shot and opens his eyes, but the bullet drives through her torso and into his. He pictures his kidney popping like a balloon.  
  
He's fading, and it's more peaceful than he thought it would be. It's not the worst thing that's ever happened to him.  
  
Jared rears up into sight. He's big enough to blot out the sky. He doesn't look like one person. He's a flock, a school of tiny little bits working in concert. His arms rise and there's an ax in his hands.  
  
It comes down singing a high, clear note, snaps the corpse's head off its neck like fruit from a branch, bites a line into Jensen's shoulder.  
  
He's slipping, without the corpse holding him up. Then Jared's under him and over him, cradling him to his chest. He's running. They're running, and Katie's screaming, this faraway noise he can feel under his fingernails.  
  
****  
  
He spends days in the makeshift clinic, going in and out of consciousness. When he first wakes up, there's an Asian woman in glasses standing over him, the cross around her neck framed by the vee of her blue oxford. She's praying for him. Jensen interrupts, asking, "Where's Jared?"  
  
The stranger moves aside, reveals Jared behind her, sitting forward in a metal folding chair. He raises his hand, says, "Present."  
  
Jensen's arm throbs and the memory of how he got that pain comes with a burst of adrenaline; he shoves halfway up, questions panicking to escape his throat. "Am I--How do they--I'm okay? Am I gonna be okay?" He touches his shoulder and it feels colder, rubbery. Foreign to him. "Oh fuck, am I--"  
  
Jared rises. He cups Jensen's face with his hands. He kisses Jensen's forehead, then cheek, then mouth. "You're fine," he says. His breath is hot and dry. "You won't become one of them. The zombie inside will have to wait." He kisses Jensen again, a fine sip at Jensen's lip. "Go to sleep."  
  
Jensen's eyes drift closed.  
  
"You taste like a penny," Jared says.  
  
****  
  
The pastor's back. "Athena," she says, introducing herself. "How're you feeling today, Jensen?"  
  
"Wow," Jensen says. "That's a name."  
  
Athena laughs. "Yes. I thought about changing it. One of my seminary professors strongly suggested it, actually. But it's my name." She puts a hand on Jensen's wrist, watches the clock. "Or it's just a name. I'm torn between the two rationalizations."  
  
"What're you doing, Athena?"  
  
"Taking your pulse." She's wearing a Bank of America polo today. She lifts her hand off of Jensen, scrawls something onto her clipboard. "I got my M.Div. first, and then my M.D. Impressive, I know. Hold your applause." She puts the clipboard down, fusses with the IVs hanging off wire hangers. When she's done, she puts the clipboard down onto Jensen's thigh, pulls up a chair. "Alrighty. Questions?"  
  
"Where's Jared?"  
  
"I insisted that he return to the fields and resume hard labor. He kept saying that you needed him, but he needed something to occupy his hands and mind."  
  
"Katie?"  
  
"I insisted that she return to skulking about the hallways after Hezekiah. I also reassured her that everything here has been aboveboard so far, but--" She shrugs. "There's only so much I can say or do."  
  
Jensen pushes himself up into a sitting position. "When can I leave?"  
  
"You could leave now, if you wanted. But you'd be back within the day. I recommend you stay for three days, at the very least, but--" She shrugs again.  
  
"What the hell am I going to do here for three days?"  
  
She smiles, holds her hands out. "We can talk. I'm all yours. And if you don't want to talk, I'll probably practice my sermon on you."  
  
Jensen shakes his head. "No," he says. "I'm not your target audience." He closes his eyes, rides out a sudden wave of dizziness. When he opens them, she's holding out a cup of water. He takes it, downs it in one gulp, then turns the cup over in his hands. "This is the tiniest clinic ever," he says.  
  
"We make do." She brings one foot up, slides it under her thigh.  
  
"So, I'm okay, right? I'm not going to snap. Go all--" He chomps his teeth together.  
  
"You won't snap, but you're infected. Like we're all infected." Athena takes off her glasses, wipes the lenses with her shirt. "I wish I had more of a nose bridge."  
  
Jensen waits for her to continue. _It would be nice to have some answers_ , he thinks. _To know something for certain._  
  
She puts her glasses back on, leans back in her chair. "How much do you know about the rise?"  
  
Jensen crosses his arms over his chest. "I know that it all started with that virus thing they created. And I've had enough rotting flesh stain my clothes to know that these aren't infected people, they're dead bodies." He purses his lips. "I know that my mom called me a week after the first news broadcasts to strongly suggest that I wear a gas mask and I rolled my eyes at her."  
  
Athena laughs. "You weren't wrong to roll your eyes. I'd say everyone you know was infected within the first few days. We are all carriers. We will all rise after death." Her eyes go to the clock. "Shit, I have to go. I'm on my third strike as it pertains to tardiness with Hez."  
  
"Wait!" Jensen says. "You can't leave me with that. There's no way to stop it?"  
  
Athena looks up at the ceiling, brows knit together. "Cures take time. There's not a way now. It doesn't mean there never will be."  
  
"I don't want to rise," he says. He feels conquered. The heart in his chest beating some alien rhythm.  
  
She laughs. "This is going to sound incredibly unhelpful. And depending on your personal stance, equally naïve. But you'll be gone. Far away. It's just your body that will rise." She grabs the jacket she'd draped on the doorknob. "But someone will be there, at the end. I'm sure. To put that body to rest." She turns back to him, smiles kindly. "Feel better, Jensen."  
  
****  
  
Katie comes to visit him in the mornings. He wakes up to find her sitting in bed next to him, eating Jell-O. "They give you the best food here," she says. "And you don't even eat it."  
  
Jensen yawns, sees Jared's underwear and towel draped across the empty chair at his bedside. "Did he sleep here?" he asks.  
  
"Good morning, Katie," she says. "Obligatory snarky comment about my love of food. Snide comment about my lack of sensitivity to your condition. Eye roll."  
  
"I hate Mad Libs," Jensen says.  
  
Katie flicks his forehead.  
  
"Ow!" Jensen rubs at the reddening spot. "You're chipper for someone whose hero figure was almost mauled to death."  
  
"I'm an enigma." She lifts the blanket covering Jensen's torso, looks down at the bandages over his bullet wound. "I did that," she says, pointing. Her hair shadows her face. It touches her shoulders now.  
  
"Yeah? You trying to stake your claim? Mark me right up."  
  
She laughs, but her hand's hovering right over the wound and Jensen can see it trembling. "I got insanely scared. Such a bad shot. I'm never going to live it down."  
  
Jensen grins. "Nope."  
  
She snickers, pulls her hand back. She eats the last of the Jell-O, a bit of lime green at the corner of her mouth. "Okay, I have to go." She hops onto her feet, sticks the spoon in her back pocket as she makes her way to the door.  
  
"Reconnaissance calls."  
  
She turns around, hand on the doorknob, door ajar. "You know, they tried really hard to save you. Athena, she worked her ass off. Hezekiah asks about you." He can see her reshuffling her deck, expressions flickering across her face.  
  
Jensen nods. "Was I the only guy lucky enough to get fucked up?"  
  
Katie cocks her head, stares at him. "You were the only one who stepped past the fences."  
  
****  
  
Jensen hasn't been complaining, but Jared shows up one afternoon, sweaty and streaked with dirt, a smile on his face. "Hey," he says. "You feel up to moving around some?"  
  
"I don't know," Jensen says, sitting up. "You could blow me, maybe."  
  
"So far from what I was thinking," Jared says. He shakes his head, then comes in close, kisses Jensen on the cheek. "You made a funny," he says, sliding Jensen's arm around his neck, tugging him gently out of bed.  
  
"Where are we going?" Jensen asks.  
  
"I don't know. I'm gonna show off your brand new chicken thighs."  
  
"Yeah," Jensen says. "Mock my muscle atrophy."  
  
"Dramatic." Jared wraps an arm around Jensen's waist, leads him out the door, down the hallway, and outside.  
  
The sun takes a sledgehammer to Jensen's eyes. He blinks it back, and when he can see again he sees damages in repair: fences being raised, gardens replanted, windows boarded over.  
  
"They ran amok," Jared says. He's tall at Jensen's side.  
  
"Hey!" Jensen hears from behind him. He looks over his shoulder to see Brad barreling toward them, a lump of chew in his cheek.  
  
"Hi, Brad," Jared says. "What's in your mouth?"  
  
Brad opens wide, displays a cud of beef jerky.  
  
"Wow," Jared says. "Thank you kindly."  
  
Brad nods. He gives Jensen the eye. "Damn," he breathes.  
  
Jensen looks down at the shirt he'd poked his way into this morning. It's already crusted across his shoulder and over his abdomen. The bandages are soaked through, oxidized and powdery red. His skin's taken on a yellow tone in the white light of day. It looks like awe in Brad's eyes and Jensen sighs, musters up some energy. "Bad-ass, right?" He grins.  
  
"No," Brad says. "I mean, sure. But--" He looks over at Jared. "He should lie down. Bullet wounds hurt like a bitch, and they open real easy."  
  
Jensen reads the concern in Brad's tone, the earnestness. It's not expected. He looks at the skin flaking off in strips off the back of Brad's neck. He touches it with the tips of his fingers. "You should get aloe for that. I think Athena's got a plant."  
  
Brad's eyes go wide, and he blushes. "Yeah, I know. I keep forgetting. I never used to burn. Just freckle." He swallows his wad of beef jerky, dances a little on his feet. He screws up his mouth. "Jared, come on, man. Take him back inside. My big brother's bullet wound opened up four times because he was a total fucking idiot."  
  
Jared nods. "Yeah, Brad. Okay." He squeezes Jensen's hip.  
  
****  
  
Jensen wakes up in the middle of the night. His shoulder's prickling. He can feel infection moving under the skin. It's dark as fuck, but when his vision readjusts, he can see Jared against the wall, leaning in close over Athena. For a second, he thinks they might be about to kiss, and he waits, stops breathing.  
  
Instead, he hears them whisper: "He's just--he's really scared about it," Jared says. "I think he has nightmares. He's not getting enough rest."  
  
"I know." Athena sighs. "What about you? Are you scared?"  
  
"I don't know." Jared hums. "I mean. It's kind of crazy, right? That my body could be walking around but it's just--not me."  
  
"Yes," she says.  
  
Jared looks up, leans heavily against the wall. "But. It's kind of...if you wanted it to be, it could be cool. You know?" He grins. "Like, maybe I'm not just my devastatingly handsome face. Or my superior brain."  
  
"Is that what all that forehead's for?" Athena asks, voice rich with amusement.  
  
Jared laughs quietly. He tugs at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger. "The corpses, they're all need, you know? Hunger, and what's that word you used? Propagation?"  
  
"Yes." She smiles at him.  
  
"Maybe we leave that behind here. You know? In our bodies. I might like that. If where we go, we didn't need anything, the things like that. If we were free to choose what to do with every second." His voice is wavering.  
  
She touches her hand to his chin. "Yes. I read a verse this morning that might be--You might like it."  
  
Jared laughs. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm babbling. It's late."  
  
"No, Jared. Don't apologize." She touches a hand to his cheek, then glances towards the bed. "I'll be back to check on him in the morning. Good night."  
  
Jensen waits until she goes, until Jared sits back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, a ratty blanket pulled up to his chin. He quotes, " _Whatever I tell you in the dark, speak in the light; and what you hear in the ear, preach on the housetops. And do not fear those who kill the body but do not kill the soul_."  
  
"Wow," Jared says. "Usually takes a few drinks before you start spouting gospel."  
  
"I blame it on mi padre."  
  
"So _Texan_ tonight," Jared says.  
  
****  
  
Athena clears him to resume some of his duties. "You're going to get bored without my running commentary," she says. "I bring flashes of insight to your life."  
  
"What we should do," Jensen says, "is get you on a walkie, and get me on a walkie, et voila."  
  
"Hilarious," she says. "That show of yours, that was a sitcom, right?"  
  
"Ba-dum-bum," Jensen drums.  
  
He heads outside, picks up his gun from the rack next to the door. It feels strange, and he wonders for a second if he'd picked up the wrong one. But there's Katie's hair tie looped around the handle and the ding from the time Jared threw it at the floor of that mall. He wraps his hands around it, resettles them, feeling for the grooves his fingers had worn in.  
  
He backs out the doorway, and goes looking for Brad. When he finds him, the kid's shirtless, a couple sand bags in each hand. "Where'd you get those?" Jensen asks.  
  
Brad turns, raises an eyebrow. He spans his arms out wide. "Sand's everywhere, bro. Use your eyes."  
  
"My eyes tell me you're going to get the mother of all sunburns. You're gonna go lobster."  
  
"You know who's crazy hot?" Brad says. "Katie. It hurts me."  
  
Jensen eyes the fence Brad's shoring up, the slashes through the chain links. "What's taking the repairs so long?"  
  
Brad squints up at the patched holes, leans over to position the sand bags, vertebrae rising in his back. "We keep getting waves of the rotters. No down time to do a primo job." He straightens, cracking his back. "Tell Katie I love her. Will you? Jared won't. I don't know why."  
  
"It's because you don't love her," Jensen says.  
  
"It's the whitest lie, dude."  
  
"Appropriate. Coming from the whitest guy."  
  
"That," Brad says. "That's why you're tops."  
  
****  
  
"Hey," Jensen calls out to Jared. "You seen Katie?"  
  
Jared looks up from the other side of the waist-high wall, digs his shovel down into the ground, rests one arm on it. "I think she went on the supply mission to that base with Hezekiah. She should be back soon, though. Sun's going down."  
  
"Okay," Jensen says. He slaps the concrete wall. "I'll go check the gate."  
  
"Hey, wait."  
  
Jensen turns back and Jared walks toward him, taking off his ballcap and wiping at his forehead with his arm. Jensen waits patiently, the slipping sun at Jared's back. He can see the hair lit up on Jared's arms.  
  
Jared leans over the wall, hands braced on top of it, presses his mouth to Jensen's. He parts his lips lazily, draws out the kiss, enjoying the slow slide of it. No hurry behind it, just for the sake of Jensen's mouth. When he pulls away, Jensen can feel the wet on his lips dry cold in the air.  
  
"Whoa," Jensen says. "What was that for?"  
  
Jared looks away, touches the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. "I don't know. Missed you." He slants a gaze at Jensen.  
  
Jensen grins. He rolls his eyes. "Laying that sexy farmer schtick on pretty thick, don't you think?"  
  
Jared smoothes his hair back, puts his ballcap down over it. He tugs at the brim. "Athena says she'll marry us, no fuss, no muss. As long as you don't mind it being real goddess circle-y. I'm thinking June."  
  
Jensen scratches at the itch where the bullet wound's scabbing. "Pretty weird, Jay."  
  
"Yeah," Jared says. He ambles back to where his shovel sticks up from the earth. It's cold, and the sun is blowing out in the wind, going to rest.  
  
****  
  
There's a slash of blood across Hezekiah's face. He has a hand pressed to his cheek, keeping the wound from pulling open. Katie's in a thrown-together sling, driving the jeep with one hand. Jensen races up to the braking car, demands, "What the fuck happened? You're late."  
  
"Yeah, we got swarmed, okay?" Katie jumps out of the car, hurries around to open the door for Hezekiah. "Ass."  
  
"Are you alright?" Jensen asks. He's at Katie's heels, grips Hezekiah's elbow, helping him out of the car.  
  
"I'm fine. I just gave my elbow a good knock. Hezekiah got cut up." Katie closes the garage door behind her.  
  
"Daddy!" A little girl bursts through the door on the far wall and runs toward Hezekiah, slows at the sight of the blood on his face.  
  
"Hi, baby," Hezekiah gets out. He tries to smile, holds up a hand in an abortive wave. Jensen steadies him.  
  
Katie runs to scoop the girl up into her arms. "Hey Shoshannah, your daddy's a tiny bit busy right now, so maybe we could go see Jared, huh? You love Jared."  
  
The girl leans over in Katie's arms, looking over Katie's shoulder. "Is he okay?" she asks.  
  
"I'm fine, little girl," Hezekiah says. "Go have fun, okay? I'll see you at dinner."  
  
"Come on," Katie says. "I'll tell you more stories about the time I met Zac Efron."  
  
"Ooh," Jensen says. "Zac Efron!"  
  
Katie's lips quirk up at that, but Shoshannah nods, and Katie takes her out, bouncing her gently.  
  
"Here," Jensen says to Hezekiah. "Lean on me. I'll walk with you to Athena's."  
  
Hezekiah grunts. He's heavy; the smell of his blood turns Jensen's stomach. They make their way slowly, down dim hallways, past dark, unused corridors.  
  
"How far out? And how many? Is it gonna be days?" Jensen asks, breaking the silence. "Or tomorrow?"  
  
"We got hit within sight of the walls. Twenty, at least. They're probably here." Hezekiah lets out a harsh breath. "You should go, after you drop me off."  
  
Jensen nods. "This is crazy," he says. He doesn't say he's scared. That it's the most he's ever seen, a constant, eroding barrage. "Why are there so many here? Is it the desert?"  
  
"It's us," Hezekiah says with finality. Throwing a glove on the floor. "We're too many, too concentrated. They smell us. They come for miles, smelling us."  
  
"I think they're drawn to the heat," Jensen says.  
  
"What?" Hezekiah puts one foot in front of the other.  
  
"Nothing," Jensen says. It's winter, and Hezekiah's body is a furnace at Jensen's side.  
  
****  
  
When the fighting's over for the night, Jensen trudges down the halls, looks for a light.  
  
He finds Jared tucked up inside a spare closet, Shoshannah curled into his side. He's got a sock puppet on his hand. They're both dozing.  
  
"Hey," Jensen says. He knocks his shoe against Jared's foot.  
  
Jared stirs, opens his eyes. "Hey."  
  
"You don't have friends your own age?" Jensen asks.  
  
Jared smiles, gets to his feet. He picks Shoshannah up and she sighs, settles into the hollow under Jared's neck. "I do, but she doesn't." He presses a kiss to her hair. "There aren't a whole lot of kids around." He says it simply.  
  
Jensen nods. His head aches. "I'll be in the room," he says. "Katie's probably already there."  
  
"Okay," Jared says. "I'm gonna put Shoshannah down, but I'm on cleanup tonight. I'll try not to wake you up when I come back in." He starts down the hall.  
  
"Hey," Jensen says. Jared turns around. "Are you okay?" He really wants to hear Jared says yes. It'd be nice. Just for tonight.  
  
"Yes," Jared says. "I'm just really tired."  
  
"You're lying," Jensen says. "I think. Are you?"  
  
Jared laughs. "Way to go, gumshoe." Shoshannah's little hand on his chin, and Jared bites her thumb, gentle.  
  
****  
  
Things get worse very quickly. They abandon repairs; there are three holes where the fences have been torn down and the corpses flood to those, like running water finding a drain. It's easier to maintain shifts, keep a 24 hour watch.  
  
It's one a.m. and Jensen has a rabbit's foot keychain around his thumb. It's something Brad gave him; he wouldn't hold on to something like that, usually--it’s pure superstition--but he kind of likes the feel of the fur in his palm. He's wearing Jared's sweater over his own and his arms rest on top of the layers, puffing him out.  
  
Hezekiah raises his rifle, aims, squinting, picks off a corpse in the distance. "Would it be so crazy?" he asks. He points his gun down, reaches for the Thermos at his feet, takes a sip of steaming hot water.  
  
"It's within the realm of sanity," Jensen says. He's not sure how much he's supposed to say. It feels strange that Hezekiah would address him as a peer; a residual deference to Hezekiah's age making Jensen awkward.  
  
"I could focus," Hezekiah says. "On the people that are most important. My wife and daughter. I could protect them without splitting my attentions. You and your friends could come. That would still be a small enough group."  
  
The automatic Jensen's borrowing lets loose with a spray of fire, taking down three straight ahead. His heart is pumping hard enough in his chest to make his body stutter in time.  
  
"You lasted for a long time on your own, the three of you. Was it better?" Hezekiah gulps at his Thermos. He's going to burn his tongue.  
  
The wind stings at Jensen's cheeks. "It was easier to hide," he says.  
  
****  
  
It's Sunday, and Jensen promised Athena that he would come to the service she holds. He sleeps in more than he'd wanted to; the night before had been bad and he throbs everywhere, old wounds smoldering. But he gets up and rattles around, too tired to be quiet. He brushes his teeth with water from the bucket and a little bit of baking soda; responds to the nudge at his side and makes room for Jared.  
  
He watches Jared splash at his face. "Is Katie coming?"  
  
"I don't know." Jared turns, tugs at the drooping skin under his eyes. "I feel fucking old. You know what I miss? My sun-dappled youth."  
  
Jensen pulls on one of Katie's toes. "Hey," he says. "We're going to service."  
  
She moans, presses her face into her elbow. "What time is it?"  
  
"Eight," Jensen says. He pulls on his sweater. It's got an aroma. He should fucking wash his clothes more often, he knows, but it's a pain in the ass.  
  
She sits up, blinks. Runs two hands through her hair. "Okay, I'm coming."  
  
They step heavy outside, to the small crowd sitting on a lawn of dying grass. The sun is small and new. Athena's hair is curling in the damp air; she's speaking just loud enough to carry.  
  
Brad's on his back, propped up on his elbows. He waves the three of them over. "I saved a space for you," he says.  
  
Jared grins at Brad, takes a seat next to him and pats his stomach. "Thanks," he says.  
  
Brad nods. "Katie," he says. "You look epic today."  
  
Katie smirks, makes sure to sit on the other side of Jared, putting him between her and Brad. "Okay."  
  
"No, for real," Brad says. "I would love to sit with you at breakfast. We could feed each other grapes."  
  
"Yeah," Katie says. "I don't date white guys."  
  
Jared snickers.  
  
Brad looks down at himself, rolls up a sleeve. "I'm really more of a rosy pink," he says.  
  
"Oh," Jensen says. "Checkmate."  
  
Jared leans back so Katie can reach over him, punch Jensen. Brad hoots.  
  
Jensen stifles a grin. People are lowering their heads, a ripple of faces looking down.  
  
"Can we pray?" asks Athena.  
  
Jensen bows his head, but he doesn't close his eyes. He picks idly at the dead grass, tries to sink fingers into the night-frozen earth.  
  
"Father," Athena starts.  
  
She's so quiet. Jensen strains his ears to hear her, to amplify her voice so it's all he can hear; not the sound of gunfire, or the pounding of feet, or the beat of his heart, picking up.  
  
****  
  
Jensen gives Athena a few pointers on how to better handle a gun. She's alright, but too hasty--she wastes bullets on targets that are too far away for any real damage to be done. He rushes her forward after the people up front have wasted most of the corpses, leaving behind only a few stragglers. He stands at her shoulder, says, "Hold. Now!"  
  
She gets better fast. "Necessity," she says, after their shift is over.  
  
"You want me to cheer you on? A sis-boom-bah?" he asks. "Could speed the process even more."  
  
"I don't know. That might be weird." She touches at a pimple on her chin. "I'm killing things."  
  
"No," Jensen says. "You're de-resurrecting them."  
  
She laughs, shakes her head. She reaches up, tugs the collar of Jensen's shirt to one side, examining the bite marks healing on his shoulder. "That looks okay," she says. "Do you still have pain?"  
  
"It's a four," Jensen says. "Livable."  
  
"I could give you some aspirin, if you want."  
  
"I'm a big boy," Jensen says.  
  
She smiles. It's late afternoon, and the sun is filtered through heavy clouds. "Don't go," she says. "Don't leave like you're thinking."  
  
He swallows. He's had a recitation ready. "We could all go. We all should go. Smaller groups are less of a target. I know it's scary, but we could load people up with supplies. It'd be less hassle. We wouldn't have to bring everything back here. The cities are full of stores we could raid, but we're too far away now for that to be logical. Maybe--maybe when things die down, we could all come back. In a year."  
  
"You sound so confident," she says. "That we've lost here."  
  
 _They're not letting up_ , he wants to say. _We get a twenty minute break, maybe. It's a miracle that nobody's died yet. A miracle that's not going to last._  
  
 _We've lost everywhere_ , he wants to say.  
  
"No," he says. "I'm just talking. I'm sorry." He smiles. "Besides, we couldn't leave. Jared's got a schedule here."  
  
****  
  
"You're not sleeping," Jensen says.  
  
Jared rolls over in his cot, faces Jensen. "I wish we could fit two in one of these."  
  
"That's real cute," Jensen says. He feels warm and satisfied. "Why aren't you snoring?"  
  
"Athena laid hands on me," Jared says. "She cured my apnea." He rustles; he's kicking his blanket down around his thighs. He's churning. "I thought about teaching Shoshannah to use a gun today," he says.  
  
Jensen can't figure out what to say. He grabs at his blanket, pulls it up to his neck. "I'm sorry."  
  
"You don't have to apologize," Jared says.  
  
It's quiet, but Jared's so awake Jensen can hear it.  
  
The room gets too hot, filling up and pressing down on Jensen's body. "Don't worry," he says. "You're not going to let anything happen to her."  
  
****  
  
"We should play that game," Brad says, "where we make up what we'd put on our tombstones."  
  
Katie squints out into the distance. It's raining and she's wearing a garbage bag. "Fuck. I wish I had binoculars."  
  
Jared reaches over and wipes Jensen's sunglasses dry with his thumb; the nose-pads dig into Jensen's face. "Handy having me around," Jared says.  
  
"As indispensable as windshield wipers," Jensen drawls.  
  
"Mine would say ' _Brad Knightley: I can see up your skirt_ '."  
  
"Classy from beyond the grave," Katie says. "Hey, there's definitely something moving out there. Can you see that?"  
  
Jared nods. "Yup. A lot of somethings."  
  
"Find footing," Jensen says. "Don't slip." The mud squelches under his shoes. They're ripping at the toes; his socks are wet and gritty.  
  
Brad gets quiet. He puts his gun up against his shoulder, eyes trying to open wide, blinking away the rain.  
  
 _Today will be an ordinary day_ , Jensen thinks. He touches the words in his head for luck.  
  
"And we're off," Katie says, then wipes her scope, fires three shots in rapid succession.  
  
It's the fucking worst. Jensen had skipped breakfast that morning, figured that a little extra sleep was a higher priority, but he regrets it now, the pit of his stomach never-ending, tunneling deep. The rain's pouring, beading on his eyelashes, and every time he blinks the water collapses into his eyes. He's worried that his gun will rust, that if it gets too wet the walnut will split. He keeps the barrel of his gun pointing down when he's not shooting, head up and searching for the next corpse to emerge from the deluge. He's fully occupied.  
  
"Cover!" Jared requests, but Jensen's reloading, too, and he backpedals, lets Brad and Katie take the front. He scans the area in front of them quick, makes sure it's clear before dropping his eyes down to pull the ammo from the reused Ziploc in his pocket.  
  
It's just for a second that he's not looking, but it's enough.  
  
Brad screams. It takes an edge to Jensen's lungs and he can feel them crack open, oxygen-rich blood pooling down into his stomach in one fat drop. Brad's down, two corpses on top of him and Jensen can't move fast enough. Time is blowing past him. He shoots, and Jared shoots from behind him, and the corpses are down by the time Jensen reaches Brad. He picks Brad up in his arms, but he stumbles when he tries to get up the first time. He shoves onto one knee, almost falling again, but he doesn't and Jensen thinks, _Yeah. Okay, we're good_.  
  
The mud's heavy on Jensen's legs. He races to the building looming in front of him.  
  
Brad's soaking wet. He keeps looking down, hands fluttering. "Oh fuck," he says. "Oh Jesus. I'm dead. I'm so super dead."  
  
****  
  
Brad goes into shock. He faints. Athena's crying. Jensen wants to yell at her, because how the fuck is she going to see to do anything if she's fucking crying? He hopes to God that she wasn't like this when he came in.  
  
"Jesus," she says. "Please, Jesus."  
  
Brad's skin is white under all the blood. He's torn open high up on his thigh, a gash in his neck. He needs a bandage there, a compress on his thigh, Jensen thinks.  
  
Athena doesn't stop moving, but Jensen can tell when she's given up. She just hovers over him, doing the same few things over and over. She keeps scanning his body, like there's some cut she missed, some place he's impaled that isn't visible to her trained eye.  
  
It's fine. Jensen pushes her away. He shakes Brad's shoulder. Jensen has a really great memory and he can be a good listener. "Brad, look at me for a second," he says. "Just one second, alright, bud?"  
  
Brad's lips are blue. His skin is raw and pink at his nose where the sunburn had left behind new cells.  
  
"Brad." _They'll be funny_ , Jensen thinks. Brad's last words. One final joke.  
  
****  
  
"He’s not going to stay down for long," Athena says. "I'm going to get Hezekiah."  
  
"Hezekiah's busy," Jensen says. He wipes his rifle down with the corner of the sheet Brad’s lying on top of.  
  
Athena shoves his gun down. "No. You're not doing this. I'll do it."  
  
"Athena," Jensen says. "Get out. Now."  
  
"I'm staying," she says.  
  
"Fine." Jensen stands, releases the safety. "You can take notes anyway. For your medical research."  
  
The clock ticks down in seconds. People underestimate them, Jensen thinks. Seconds. They're little bombs going off, sixty to a row.  
  
Brad's pupils dilate. Jensen presses the gun to his forehead, puts a neat little hole there, between his eyes.  
  
****  
  
It's funny, because Jensen thought it would be when high school was over. That would be when everything would change, and he'd become someone different and cross that line. Saying 'mama' and 'daddy' would be an old habit, something he could shake if he wanted.  
  
And then he thought, when they stop paying for my car insurance. When I buy my first washer and dryer, or a house. When I get married, maybe.  
  
Jensen's dad was dying on the other side of the phone. Every shallow breath a step over to somewhere unfamiliar and frightening.  
  
 _I don't have him anymore_. Jensen told it to himself. _Soon I won't have him anymore_.  
  
Jensen's dad stopped trying to talk. Strings of words that frayed into nothing. And now he was quiet, and Jensen felt it sink into his hollows, into the worn down pads of his feet.  
  
His daddy never stopped slipping twenties into his pocket. He'd say, "This is an investment. Something to remember after I've retired."  
  
A rattling gasp. "God?" his dad pled and his voice was rolled out tight, withered on the branch.  
  
Jensen curled his lips over his teeth.  
  
Jensen had never been a perfect son but he knew what his dad needed to hear. He'd known it all along, he just hadn't had to pick it up: a sharp little coin that fell onto the floor and rolled down, there, beneath his ribs.  
  
"Yeah, Dad. He's ready for you. And Mom and everybody else. Everyone you love. They've been biding their time. They're all excited to see you."  
  
He taught me how to whistle, Jensen remembered. Just a sweetened bit of air.  
  
He choked and his dad must have heard it, because he said, "Don't be afraid,” but Jensen was. He was only afraid, holding words back behind his teeth, things like _I was going to be better to you. I was. With time._  
  
****  
  
The curtain's come down. Jensen blinks. The room's gone dark. He's not sure how long he's been here, in the clinic. It couldn't have been too long, but he can't remember really. After Brad, his memory goes black.  
  
The bed in front of him is empty and Athena is gone. It should be a jolt, probably, but it's okay. It's fine. Jensen needs that adrenaline corralled. He has shit to do.  
  
When he bursts into the room he shares, Jared's already inside. He's all caked in mud except for his face, a towel in his hand.  
  
Jensen pushes past him, grabs the backpack that's sat empty for too damn long, slams it down onto his cot.  
  
"Jensen," Jared says.  
  
Jensen shoves his belongings inside it, handfuls at a time, streaks of brown and red marring his clean shirts.  
  
Jared grabs his wrist. "Jensen, stop. What happened?"  
  
Jensen turns. "You want to know what happened? Looks like you could've found out if you wanted. You gotta look presentable before coming in to check on your good buddy Brad?"  
  
Jared's face shutters carefully.  
  
"No, I get it, man. You just weren't up to seeing if Brad was dead or not. You've got mud on your face. You're right, Jay. You were right to get that off first. That's a big priority. Your skin's so damn delicate."  
  
"Jensen." Jared says it sorrowful. "What're you doing, man?"  
  
"We're leaving," Jensen says. He turns back to packing. "Now."  
  
"We're not going anywhere." Jared swats the backpack onto the ground. "Stop it, Jensen. Talk to me. I'm fucking begging you."  
  
Jensen walks around him, picks up the backpack, tosses a pack of rounds into it. They'll need those. He could rummage through the stores on their way out, too.  
  
Jared sits down heavy, watches Jensen snap the backpack closed, zip up all the pockets. "I can't force you to talk to me, but I wish you would." He's shaking, rain dripping from his hair. "I’m really tired. Don’t make me be a guy about this."  
  
Jensen swings the backpack up onto one shoulder. He stands in front of Jared expectantly.  
  
"Don't go away from me," Jared says. He's a mountain, water and dirt sluicing down his slopes.  
  
"Come on," Jensen says. He doesn't have the patience or time.  
  
"I'm not going." It's a challenge.  
  
"Fine," Jensen says. He turns, clockwork.  
  
****  
  
He'd ended things with Jared more than once. The last time, Jensen was sitting in what he still thought of as Jared's kitchen. He had a bag packed. He put his key on the island, slid it closer to Jared, kicking gently at the cupboard doors. "I don't think I want this anymore," he'd said.  
  
Jared had his feet up on the coffee table in front of the TV, ESPN blaring. The house was cool, but the screen door was open, hot air hovering over it like something to wade in. He stood, came to take the stool next to Jensen, elbows on the counter. "Okay," he said.  
  
Jensen swallowed. "But I don't want to lose you. You should still hang around. You know. In my life and shit."  
  
"Okay," Jared said.  
  
"I don't know anyone else with 40 dedicated HD sports channels."  
  
Jared laughed. He slouched down in his seat, touched his forehead to the cool counter. He turned his head, cheek pressed against it. He looked up at Jensen. "I need a beer," he said.  
  
****  
  
Jensen's in the pantry, two cans in hand. He's staring at their nutritional labels. The percentages frivolous, essential. He doesn't have the strength to carry whole flats of canned goods in his backpack and he wrestles with himself, deciding between beans and fruit. He's not sure which one packs the most punch.  
  
"The beans will fill you up," Katie says.  
  
Jensen doesn't look up, but he can feel her in the doorway. "You like fruit though."  
  
She crosses her arms, doesn't acknowledge the implication. "You know we were there, right? Of course we went straight to the clinic."  
  
She stops, waiting for something from him. Jensen's not sure what.  
  
"Jared buried Brad's body. Do you remember that? He carried Brad out of there after you--" She breaks the sentence off with a crack.  
  
Jensen looks up. She's crying, and he feels his gut roll. So many things are breaking. "Are you crying?" he asks. "Why are you crying? You don't care about Brad, Kate."  
  
"What?" she asks. The single light-bulb above them starts to buzz. This metallic overtone.  
  
"He wasn't anybody to you. He was just that guy who hit on you constantly." He's desperate. The glue is coming loose. "Who the fuck cares? He wasn't important."  
  
"Stop it, Jensen. He mattered." She smoothes one hand over the other, trying to still the tremors.  
  
It fucking pisses him off, is what it does. "Oh," he says. "I get it. It's because I got to shoot him and you didn't. Now that you've been fucking assimilated, you're itching to get back to old duties."  
  
She switches off. Jensen knows it was too much as soon as he said it, but he's defiant. He feels buried under a bank of snow. He watches her take a step toward him. She wipes off the tears precisely with two passes of her hand. "I killed people when they were still people, Jensen." She smiles, and it slaps Jensen clear of ice, leaves his knees aching, his shoulders drooped. "Brad was dead, and you made sure he stayed that way. I put living people down. They were alive and then I changed that." She's toe to toe with Jensen, studying his face. "You don't know anything about me."  
  
Jensen licks his lips, looks away. He squats to put the beans in the backpack at his feet. "He's just the first." He feels the heat build up behind his eyes, flooding back from where he'd held it at bay. "And he was good with his gun. As good as you."  
  
She sighs, then kneels down in front of him, kisses his cheek. "We can’t do anything and everything, just to survive. There are lines I won't cross. Not anymore.”  
  
She looks really pretty tonight. The light is drifting across her, a seventies kind of amber.  
  
"Will you wait?" she asks. "Let someone catch up to you." Her hand is on the strap of his backpack, slim and perfect, black dug in under her nails.  
  
****  
  
The sky is ready for the sun, a lifting black. The stars are speckling out. It's cold, the air stripped down to the green by the rain. Jensen sits on the dead lawn, hands on his knees, waits for the first sign of day. His pants are getting wet.  
  
He hears Jared's footsteps, getting nearer. _I know the sound of him_ , Jensen thinks. Jared eases down onto the ground next to Jensen, a groan escaping his mouth, his bones creaking. He has a bag packed. "What are you doing?" Jared asks.  
  
Jensen squints at the glow seeping across the horizon. "Are you coming?"  
  
"Don't sound so surprised, asswipe." Jared sighs. "You need me."  
  
Jensen shakes his head. Jared sounds tired. Like his grip is slipping. "I'm sorry," Jensen says. "I wasn't kind to you."  
  
Jared nods. "Okay. I'm sorry, too."  
  
Jensen turns, finds Jared already looking at him. "For what?"  
  
"I just--feel sorry." Jared looks down. "You're not in a good place."  
  
And suddenly there's this storm in Jensen's head. A crowd of voices talking. There's so fucking much he wants to say. _I don't need you to make me better. I think I do like the beach, oozing masses of washed-up kelp and all. I'm so super dead. I can't make the corpses go away. I'm scared to touch you._ He says this: "My dad died without me there to put him down." Goosebumps rising on his skin.  
  
"Fuck, Jensen." Jared's steady and close.  
  
"I fucking hate that."  
  
There are more clouds in the distance. Jensen watches them roll.  
  
"He used to say that there was nowhere we could go that God couldn't find us. That even in the depths of Hell, He found Jesus in three days." Jensen runs his teeth across his bottom lip. "I used to think he was really sure. But listening to him go--"  
  
Jared's hand closes around the meat of Jensen's left calf, his thumb in the hollow under Jensen's knee.  
  
"I’ve never heard my dad sound like that. He sounded really weak." Jensen knows his voice is getting high. He fights it, puts a mute on the quiver. "I hate that he wanted God more than God wanted him. I hate that." He feels hollowed out. One careless touch and the boards of him could collapse.  
  
Jared puts an arm around Jensen's shoulders, his hand stealing its way over Jensen's heart, his elbow cradling Jensen's neck. "Who are you today?" he asks, mouth on Jensen's temple.  
  
Jensen’s so fucking tired. "Today I'm not anybody."  
  
Jared nods. "We're at an amusement park. You know? The old kind. Light bulbs framing signs for Popcorn and Corn Dogs. Just me and you. And there's a Ferris Wheel up in the distance. It's still turning. It's too far away for anyone to make the drive but we're there." He pauses. "People forgot this was here. It's on the beach. They have blue cotton candy."  
  
The sky is going white. Jensen smiles. "Sweet."  
  
Jared laughs. "You know it's the same as pink, right? It doesn't taste any different. They just swap out the food coloring."  
  
Jensen tugs away. He gets up onto his knees, taller than Jared. Taller than everything. He puts his hands on Jared's shoulders. "I thought I needed you, but I don't. People need to breathe and eat and shit." His breath comes out steaming. "I want you. You're a choice I'm making. You make life better."  
  
Jared's heart is going. _I know the sound of him_ , Jensen thinks.  
  
****  
  
They're on their way out when they see the crowd. "What's going on?" Jensen asks.  
  
Jared peers over. He smacks his lips absentmindedly. "I don't know. Do you want to see?"  
  
Jensen nods, starts to stride over. Jared hooks a finger through one of the loops on the backpack Jensen's carrying, lets Jensen drag him along. "You know what we should try again? Giving me a piggyback ride."  
  
"Sure," Jensen says. "That'll work out better than the last time, I bet. I'm older and more sober now. And you've magically lost a foot of height and a hundred pounds."  
  
Jared pats his belly. "Slimfast."  
  
Jensen smirks. "Why doesn't this discussion ever turn to me getting a piggyback ride from you?"  
  
Jared points his thumb down. "Where's the spectacle in that?" He lifts his chin toward the gathering, sobers. "Hey. I think this is where I buried Brad."  
  
Athena's speaking. Jensen wonders if she gets tired of that. Sick of carrying burdens and soothing wounds. She hides it pretty well. There are a few other freshly dug graves. Jared had pushed a stick through a scrap of paper, scrawled ‘ _Brad Knightley_ ’ in black. He’d drawn a skirt and eyeballs.  
  
Katie's near the front, and her eyes are rimmed with red. She crosses her arms, jaw tensed. "I can't believe you were going to leave me," she says, as soon as they're within earshot.  
  
"I can't believe you were going to stay." He shouldn't engage, he knows. This isn't the time or place. But--he can't find an impulse he can control right now.  
  
"Now, now," Jared says. "In the face of our recent tragedies, can we all agree to come together in light of our reacquaintance with the brevity of life?" He's beatific.  
  
"What the hell?" Katie says.  
  
Jensen rolls his eyes. "He pretends he's the Buddha."  
  
"Come on. You make it sound weirder than it is.” He looks at Katie. “Only when Jensen forces me to resolve his conflicts."  
  
"Oh." Jensen puts on a rueful face. "Can't believe I forgot the part that makes it normal."  
  
Katie steps on Jensen's foot. "This is not over." She turns to face forward, Athena's words drawing to a close.  
  
"Great," Jensen mutters. "I look forward to your silent wrath and our rebuilding period. I'm great at trust falls."  
  
Athena's staring around at people's faces expectantly. "Jensen?" she asks. "Maybe you could say something about Brad?"  
  
It's a reminder. Jensen feels the weight settle over him again. His lips go tight.  
  
"I'm sorry," Athena says. "I shouldn't have asked." Her smile flutters.  
  
"No," Jensen says. "I want to." He holds Jared's hand. He opens his mouth and closes it. "Um, I just can't--" He breaks into a short laugh. "I can't think of what to say."  
  
"He wanted to open a breakfast place," Jared says. "Somewhere on an island." His thumb sweeping back and forth across the back of Jensen's hand.  
  
Jensen smiles. He breathes out slow. "Yeah. Mostly because he wanted someplace he could play his music where he wouldn't get booed off the stage."  
  
"He wanted three kids," Katie says. "Two girls, a boy in the middle."  
  
Jensen wants to laugh. He loves that Katie knows that.  
  
Athena grins at them. "Awesome," she says. It's strange. That this is a happy moment. She lingers long, then breaks away, to look at the other people waiting. Familiar faces. "Does anyone want to say something about Melissa?"  
  
Jensen leans over, whispers in Katie's ear. "Hey. I'm sorry. I said fucking awful shit to you. And I'm an ass."  
  
She leans over, punches him hard in the thigh. "Okay," she says.  
  
Jensen smiles. "Also. I think it would be both appropriate and respectful if you found a skirt to pay your respects at Brad's grave." His heart hurts.  
  
"Reducing me to my vagina," Katie drawls. "Hilarious."  
  
****  
  
Hezekiah forces Katie to let him patrol alone, a day later. She's at Jensen's heels all day. "When are you going to leave, already?" she asks.  
  
"Pushy," Jensen says.  
  
"I wish I was doing my job," Katie says. "What's Jared doing?"  
  
"I'm not his keeper, sweetheart." Jensen picks off two lumbering corpses through the links of the fence.  
  
"News to me," Katie says. "Let me shoot one."  
  
"You're too jittery for a gun right now."  
  
Katie scoffs. She falls against the fence, bouncing a little, hooks her fingers through it. "You two seem better. You're like, less--" She makes a crazy-eyed face, and grasping, outstretched hands. "Are you his boyfriend again?"  
  
Jensen puts the tip of his tongue between his teeth. He squints over the barrel of his gun. "Yup," he says. "Didn't you see my Trapper Keeper?"  
  
****  
  
Tomorrow will be a good day to go, Jensen thinks. Katie's close to giving in. He's pretty sure. And the corpses have been arriving in sparser groups. They have a window.  
  
He goes to find Jared to tell him, but it's a search. He finally finds Jared in the garage, led by the sound of his voice.  
  
"You shouldn't take the truck," Jared says. "They'll need it."  
  
"They won't need it." Hezekiah sounds determined.  
  
Jensen rounds the corner but he stays quiet. He stands against the wall. Hezekiah's loading the truck up, boxes of supplies, jugs, ammunition.  
  
"You can't go." Jared's leaning against the car, hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor. His long legs crossed at the ankles. "You fucking run this place, Hez."  
  
Hezekiah barks out a laugh. He wipes the sweat off his brow. "I'm on patrol most days, Jared. You're day-to-day. Let's be clear."  
  
"I don't know how long I'm going to be here."  
  
Hezekiah tuts. "Jensen's all talk about leaving. Married to an idea he had while grieving."  
  
"These are good people here. They need you to lead them. They won't win this fight without you."  
  
Hezekiah slams the back of the truck closed. "There's a fucking swarm of corpses coming. You ever seen ants come down on a piece of hamburger? You've got hundreds on the way. No one's winning this fight."  
  
Jared looks up then, gaze steadfast. "We've lasted this long."  
  
Hezekiah rests an arm on the walls of the truck bed. He puts a fist on his hip. "Listen to me. This place is a relic. If you stay, you'll be fighting for something that doesn't exist anymore. I've had this talk before. Athena. Katie. They're good girls, but they're clinging to a world that's gone. We survive first."  
  
Jared shakes his head. "Think of Shoshanna." He looks sorry to force it.  
  
Hezekiah shoves a finger into Jared's chest, and Jared pushes off the truck, stands tall. "I am thinking of that little girl. She's alive, isn't she? That is a feat. That isn't chance, Jared."  
  
"What's out there? Where are you going that's better than this?"  
  
"This isn't about how worthy this place is. I'm not asking you to give me reasons to spare this town, these people. It's not on me." Hezekiah's breathing hard. "I can't take this chance."  
  
Jared's all eyes, piercing, and then he blinks them. He rubs his hands over his face. "Okay," he says.  
  
Hezekiah's shoulders drop. He puts a hand across the lower half of his mouth, lets it slide off. "This isn't easy for me," he says. "I've made some fucked-up choices. Maybe this is another one." He shrugs. "I'm not asking you to absolve me. I'll carry the consequences."  
  
Jared puts his hand out, shakes Hezekiah's hand firm. "This is a whole place. Not just a fragment broken off. I wish that was important to you." He smiles, sad. "Be safe."  
  
Hezekiah nods. He gets into the truck and it starts with a roar, filling the room with noise. He pulls away, and Jared lifts one hand. He doesn't drop it for a long while.  
  
"His girls waiting at the gate?" Jensen asks.  
  
Jared turns around. "Yeah." He presses one eye closed, squinting. "You here for a lot of that?"  
  
"Most." Jensen walks toward Jared, stretches. "Very stirring."  
  
"You have to say that or I won't put out," Jared says. He grabs at Jensen's shirt, tugs him in close.  
  
Jared squeezes at Jensen as hard as he can, until Jensen reaches up and digs his fingers into Jared's side. "Hey," Jensen says. "When are the hundreds gonna get here?"  
  
Jared groans. He bites Jensen's shoulder. "A couple days."  
  
"I can see it now," Jensen says. "It'll be my Ridley Scott moment."  
  
Jared pulls away. He's shining. He looks at Jensen, takes him in. "Sometimes, I think you're so close to perfect," Jared says. He cocks his head and measures Jensen's height with his hand, then lifts it a few inches. "And then I remember."  
  
****  
  
They had holed up in a Mickey D’s, near the beginning. The electricity was out, and Jensen couldn’t get the smell of rancid French fries out of his nose. The moon sent long shadows in the shape of golden arches dribbling across the linoleum floors.  
  
Jensen wiped at his mouth with a fistful of napkins. He could still taste the bite of his vomit.  
  
“We could have let them stay,” Jared said. “Safety in numbers.”  
  
“You’re fighting me on it now?” Jensen asked. “After I sent ‘em away?” He swallowed, scraped his teeth across his tongue.  
  
“You don’t even know how to use the fucking gun.” Jared was sprawled across a plastic booth, picking at the red and blue seat covers.  
  
“The fuck you say?” Jensen drawled, hitching the shotgun up onto his shoulder. He’s still unsettled. Little chips at his foundation. It’s a good thing he’s never had a memory for faces. He feels the aftershocks ringing through him.  
  
Jared whistled a faint, slipping note. “It’s been three weeks. How much longer, you think?”  
  
Jensen shrugged. “Beats me. I’m gonna need forty-three rounds of golf, though, stat. Hear that.” He claps his hands together, trying to drive the tremors from his body.  
  
They’d gotten used to killing the corpses, fast. It wasn’t really killing. It was too much like a game. Corpses didn’t scream. They didn’t beg, or cry, or clutch at you. They didn’t huddle behind you, scattering like marbles when you whirled on them, looking at your gun like a lamp and wildfire. They didn’t ask you for things you were afraid to be generous with.  
  
Maybe it wouldn't have hurt them, if he'd let that family inside. Maybe they wouldn't have been a liability. “Don’t include this part in my memoirs,” Jensen said. He looked up, laughing. “Just skip ahead, to where I’m the next Paul Newman. Aging well. Happily married. Popcorns in my name.”  
  
Jared smiled. He tapped fingers on his chin. “You’d cry right now if I picked a fight with you, huh? Admit it. You’d cry like a twelve year old girl.”  
  
Harley whines, and Jensen purses his lips at him. Sadie’s slumped at his feet, nursing a tummy ache. He shouldn’t have let her eat that banana peel. He presses the button for Coke on the soda fountain with the pad of his thumb.  
  
Jared’s voice is pitched low and soft. Vibrating. “We’ll go to Pebble Beach. Okay? It’ll be perfect. You can bring that new set of clubs that’s been collecting dust in my garage.”  
  
Jensen lets himself picture it for a second. Lawns of grass trimmed short and uniform, emerald island green. Little flags in the distance, snapping in the breeze.  
  
He clips the reel.  
  
****  
  
"Who would've thought that I would have this kind of cojones?" Katie asks.  
  
It's the middle of the night. Everyone had stumbled awake at the knock on their doors. Jensen's wearing a sweater he hasn't washed in a week, flannel pants that hang above the knobs of his ankles. He can hear gunshots already. Shouting. He can see shadows moving beyond the fence, a wave rolling in. "Did anyone see Athena?" he asks. "Where's Jared?"  
  
"I saw her go for the heavy artillery when we were running out. She gave me these." Katie holds up a fistful of Band-Aids, laughs, high and tight.  
  
Jensen beams at her. He leans over and kisses her hair.  
  
"If we're going to do the end-of-the-world hookup," Katie says, "I call Jared."  
  
"Okay." Jensen's counting every breath. He's got a timer running down in his head. They're really close. It'll be time to shoot soon. He rubs a strand of Katie's hair between his thumb and forefinger.  
  
"Oh my god ," Katie says. "If you tell me I'm beautiful, I will fucking kill you. And you know I'll do it."  
  
Jensen laughs. He looks around. The pit of his stomach yawing. "Where's Jared?" He wants to break away, to find him. He fights panic, a sweat breaking across his skin, a prickling over his scalp.  
  
"Hey, hey," Jared says. He slips in from behind Jensen. "I'm here. I'm sorry. I did a lap, made sure everyone's where they're supposed to be." He clicks off the safety of his gun. "We're gonna get the brunt of it."  
  
Jensen nods, tries to relax. He rolls his shoulders, rubs at his neck.  
  
"Tell me I'm a bitch," Katie says suddenly. She's staring straight ahead.  
  
"You're one badass bitch," Jared says, immediate. He crows it.  
  
"You're brave," Jensen tells her .  
  
She blinks back tears.  
  
There's a wind blowing. Alpine and cold. Jensen thinks he can smell evergreen on it.  
  
"Can I tell you something?" Jared says. "Without you committing it to memory as my last words or whatever?"  
  
"Yeah." Jensen's nose is dripping. He wipes at it with his sleeve.  
  
"I love you. And I'm grateful. That you stayed. That you keep coming back to me. Okay?"  
  
"Okay." Jensen's falling.  
  
Jared leans down and kisses him. It's bruising, tongue dipping inside his mouth, the sharp edge of teeth. He tastes like Jared; his lips are warm and chapped. Jensen feels the blood rush through his veins, pulsing and hot, feels the air turn into steam on his skin, heated up through to the bone. His heart is pumping, racing to keep up and Jared is in front of him, still and illuminated.  
  
He can hear the corpses running. His body a beacon. _I'm not wrong_ , Jensen thinks.  
  
They break apart. Jensen nods. He kisses Jared again. "Don't go too far, okay? Stay close."  
  
"Where would I go?" Jared's eyes are glowing wet. "I've been waiting for you." He smiles. "I've been waiting for you my whole life."  
  
The sun cracks open over the desert, like a fever breaking, rising, rising.  
  
 **The end.**


End file.
